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THE THREE BRIDES 
AND OTHER POEMS 



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The Three Brides 

AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 
RENA CARTWRIGHT HOWARD 



Los Angeles, Cal. 

BAUMGARDT PUBLISHING CO. 

1905 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

NOV 17 1905 

_, Copyriirht Entry 
CLASS ex. XXc. No. 

/ 3 t 311 

COPY B. 



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Co a^p 55elotjeti 



As IN a garden, all untended, wild. 
Some flower smiles on you, loved when a child,— 
A blue forget-me-not or primrose gay 
Abloom beside the vine encumbered way; 
So, in this wild of verses, may you find 
Some thought or pleasing fancy to remind 
You of glad days, ere Time, with onward flow. 
Had made of them the days of long ago. 



CONTENTS 



Page. 

The Three Brides 3 

It Is Not Always June 9 

The Eain 14 

The Violet • 17 

Words of Welcome to the Women of the World 18 

Changes 22 

Heed That Cry 24 

Voices of the Night 25 

Let the Blessed Sunshine In 28 

To Be Content 29 

The Debtor 's Prison 30 

Buried Alive 32 

Waiting 34 

Old Letters 35 

The Working Man 38 

Western Wonders 39 

The Two Burials 40 

Tired 43 

The Child and the Eose 45 

Lines In An Album 46 

Lines to M— 46 

Coming Home 47 

The Miller 's Daughter 48 

The Old House by the Sea 53 

The Tiber 55 

The Great South West 57 

Los Angeles 60 

The Builders 61 

The Unattainable 65 

' ' Nulla Dies Sine Linea " 67 

Columbus 69 

The Bell of Liberty 72 

Memorial Day 73 

Our Boys Arc Coming Home Today 78 

The Hero of Manila Bay 79 



CONTENTS 

Page. 

The Philippine Question 81 

A Plea for Peace 83 

The Nurse of the Red Cross 84 

The Difference 86 

Life Wanderings 88 

' ' Go, Ye, Work Today in My Vineyard " 90 

The First Christmas 93 

Christmas Rhymes 95 

The New Year 95 

Coming Home for Holidays 98 

N. E. A. Greeting 99 

A Lullaby 101 

To E. R. H. on His 21st Birthday 102 

Afternoon 106 

The Dying Chief 107 

If We Had Known 109 

A Cheerful Giver 110 

A Medley of Memories 112 




THE THREE BRIDES. 

lEACE smiles on fair Germania's vales 

and hills, 
The sound of cheerful toil the soft 

air fills ; 
The fragrant, upturned sod proclaims 

the hand 

That holds the plow rules o'er the happy land; 
The keen edged sword now rusts upon the wall— 
The bird, perched o'er her nestlings, whose sweet call. 
Of ''all's well," in bird language, to her mate 
Is not in leaf screened safety, more elate 
Than she, who, bending o'er her cradled boy, 
Dreams of a future full of peace and joy— 
Marred by no war's alarms in years to come— 
The call of bugle and the roll of drum. 

* * * iff * 

The battle fields are green with springing corn. 
And waving gold, where, soon at early morn. 
Will speed the reaper for the precious sheaves— 
The throstle sings above the cottage eaves. 
Beneath that lowly roof are voices heard 
More sweet than note of any forest bird ; 
Groups of fair maidens flit from room to room ; 
The walls are hid with wreaths of fragrant bloom- 
But fairer, sweeter one than all the rest 
Is she, who, meekly now at love's behest 
Goes o'er the threshold, down the village street 
To ancient church the young bridegroom to meet. 

Hark to the wedding bells ! How sweet the notes 
That flow from out the church bells' brazen throats, 
And pour a flood of gladsome music down, 
O'er mossy roofs, o'er graves and quaint old town; 
And forth, now, from the portal, comes the bride 
With strong and gallant husband at her side, 



4 THE THREE BRIDES 

And many a garland decks the way between 
The altar and their home, whose walls are seen 
Half hid among a wealth of blossoming bowers, 
In which they hope to spend life's varied hours. 

The bells are hushed but on the startled ear 

Fall other sounds that thrill with nameless fear 

Each citizen for in the near by glen 

Is heard the rapid march of armed men, 

And ever and anon a trumpet's blare 

Awakes the slumbering echoes of the air; 

Too soon their arms shine on the great highway— 

Too soon is heard what they have come to say — 

"Ye men of Hesse, it is the duke's decree 

Your young and strong shall go beyond the sea 

To lands that George of England calls his own, 

Whose subjects there rebel against his throne. 

For many a heap of shining English gold 

We go to crush those freemen, brave and bold." 

Then, in each home were wailing and distress; 
Sad was each parting and each last caress; 
The mother lived to see her hope and pride 
Torn from his home and from his weeping bride, 
Pressed into service for a distant shore — 
From which shall he return? Ah, nevermore. 



The light from a hundred windows 

Shone on the stream below, 
That flowed by the walls of a castle 

In that time long ago 
When George the Third of England 

Ruled with a mighty hand. 
That reached out o'er the ocean 

To smite in a distant land. 

On the castle's splendid stairway 
Fell the tread of dainty feet. 

In the hall was merry dancing 
To the time of music sweet— 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 

That rose in strains triumphant 
Then sank to a mournful cry, 

As if a voice prophetic 

On the breath of night swept by. 

The noblest and the bravest, 

The loveliest were there 
To honor by their presence 

A newly wedded pair- 
She in her peerless beauty— 

The last of a noble line — 
He who by dauntless valor 

Had entered Glory's shrine. 

His good ship lay at anchor — 

Tomorrow, o'er the sea, 
He sails by royal mandate 

To uphold tyranny 
Among a kindred people — 

That nation in the West 
Whose sons though true and loyal 

Will never be oppressed. 

Still rises high the music, 

Still sinks it low and clear — 
Awaked are birds in hedgerows, 

From wildwood starts the deer. 
Wit, song and silvery laughter 

From many a lip doth fall. 
But the sorrow of the parting 

Casts a shadow over all 
And many are the glances 

Cast on the trembling bride. 
Whose cheeks are growing paler 

With the ebbing of the tide, 
And in that mystic moment 

When night clasps hands with day 
He clasps her to his bosom 

And from her goes his way. 

The stream, today, glides sparkling 
The castle walls beside— 



THE THEEE BRIDES 

So old and gray and stately 

Now in their ancient pride; 
And strangers now inhabit 

The bride's ancestral halls— 
Her's is the fairest portrait 

Upon those pictured walls, 
Where she, among her kindred, 

Within that faded room, 
Looks down in pride and beauty, 

Still in her girlish bloom. 



And if were asked the question— 

What joy had lady fair? 
Then would they point in sadness 

Unto a winding stair 
That led to loftiest tower 

Whose window could command 
A view of noble distance 

Both on the sea and land— 
And tell when time allotted 

For her dear lord's return 
Had come and gone, the reason 

She never seemed to learn — 
She, to that lofty window. 

Each morning would begin 
Her watch out o'er the ocean, 

To see his ship come in. 



And when the night was stormy 

And the waters dark and wild. 
When on the beach dashed breakers 

Whose crests with foam were piled, 
She placed within the window 

A light that seemed a star 
For miles around the country 

And on the sea afar; 
And many a lonely sailor 

Would bless the lady when 
That light gleamed on his pathway 

And lit him home again. 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 

And days merged into seasons 

And seasons into years— 
Her form grew worn and wasted— 

Her cheeks were seamed with tears; 
When Death, with sweet compassion, 

Then claimed her for his own- 
She sleeps among her people, 

Beneath the chancel stone. 

And yet is told the legend 
Around the cheerful fire, 

When the storm-king rides the billows- 
How some belated squire 

Or boatman on the water 
Has seen from the old tower 

A light gleam through the darkness 
At the weird midnight hour. 

***** 

Where vast forests uplift their tops skyward. 
Where broad rivers wind down to the sea, 
Where the peaks of the mountains pierce cloudland- 
Dwell a people whose names shall yet be 
Enrolled highest among Earth's great nations— 
Oh, Columbia, land heaven blest ! 

Not the breezes that blow, 

Not the waters that flow 
Are more free than thy sons of the West. 

What to them that now over the billows 
Speed the foemen, relentless and stern— 
They may grasp their good weapons more firmly, 
But of fear, they have it yet to learn ; 
Comes the Englishman great in his power- 
All must yield and submit to the crown — 

Comes the Hessian who's sold 

By his master for gold 
Which to earn, he must strike freedom down. 

But the axe rings no longer in woodland, 
In the field stands forsaken the plow. 
Past are peaceful communings with Nature, 
No true patriot hesitates now. 



8 THE THEEE BRIDES 

With stout heart and firm hand he goes forward 
From the tyrant his land to redeem, 

With his face to the foe 

His base plans to o'erthrow, 
Though his life blood should ebb in a stream. 

He would pause only once, in that clearing 

Where his home stands, his bride at the door; 

A farewell, then no bride but his country 

Shall be his till the struggle is o'er; 

Not a sigh, not a tear, her devotion 

To the cause makes her hopeful and strong— 

"To your duty away, 

I will work, I will pray. 
While you go to help right the great wrong." 

Fair and peaceful the scene he is leaving, 
His rude cabin festooned with woodbine. 
The air filled with the scent of things blossoming- 
The rich pink and the sweet eglantine. 
In the dim, mossy aisles of the forest 
Is heard music of bird chirp and trill- 
Will he ever again, 
In that flowery glen 
Walk with her by the murmuring rill? 

But, away, the wild bugles are blowing, 
For the foe treads American soil— 
With his sword and his flintlock he hastens 
To confront him in battle's turmoil- 
He for home and for liberty striving ; 
They a King's unjust cause to maintain— 

Will he conquer or yield 

On the grim battlefield- 
Will his standard be cherished in vain? 

A reply from the Delaware's ripples, 
From the low grassy mounds at White Plains ; 
From the breezes that whisper o'er Monmouth, 
Valley Forge speaks through the blood stains 
Of her footprints and Lexington answers 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 

By the dust of all heroes who fell 

From the palm to the pine, 

From the creek Brandywine 
To the Hudson— all bear witness well. 

How the banner was borne through the conflict 
With a heroism earnest and true — 
It had caught from the skies of the morning 
Its fair tints of cerulean hue, 
And upon its bright folds dyed in crimson, 
Its defenders their best blood had shed- 
Seeking freedom through wild fields of carnage 

And the victory came 

In fair Liberty's name, 
Indepdendence the spirit that led. 

And, today, the old flag just as proudly 
Flings its clustering stars to the breeze— 
A great nation secure 'neath its shadow. 
Its bright colors illuming the seas; 
And the bride who had hoped and had waited, 
The descent of the Angel of Peace, 

Saw her children of worth 

In the land of their birth. 
Where a love for the flag shall ne'er cease. 



IT IS NOT ALWAYS JUNE. 

Weave garlands, bright garlands to twine 'round the 

brow 
Of Summer, who comes in her loveliness now ; 
Ye gaily plumed songsters, ring out your wild glees, 
And join in the chorus ye tall, waving trees; 
While rill in the valley and stream on the plain 
Come, mingle together your sweetest refrain— 
For Heaven has granted to us this great boon 
The return of the glorious season of June— 
The first born of Summer, the beautiful June. 

The fingers of angels have labored unseen 

To deck the glad earth for the beauteous queen, 



10 THE THREE BEIDES 

Who comes in the grace of a sweet regal pride, 
And strews choicest blessings o'er earth far and wide — 
An arch they've thrown o'er her of Heaven's own blue ; 
They've scattered beneath her the emblems so true, 
Of all that is good in these natures of ours— 
The lowly, the gentle, the beautiful flowers— 
These thoughts of our Maker, the wonderful flowers. 

The prince, at her coming, descends from his throne 
And goes forth to greet her with welcoming tone; 
The children at play, 'round the door of their home 
Forget their gay sports and their playmates to roam 
With her o'er the meadows and through the wild dell, 
Where trailing arbutus and meek daisies dwell. 
The bird song grows sweeter, the clouds cease to weep, 
The stars in the heavens ne'er slumber nor sleep— 
Those ** angels' forget-me-nots" never then sleep. 

Now, the year has attained its full measure of bliss— 
For what other season so lovely as this? 
Day lingers as loth to depart from the place, 
Where dwells such perfection of beauty and grace. 
The soft air is freighted with sweetest perfume, 
That's wafted from bowers where roses red bloom; 
In forest is heard the melodious voice 
Of wild birds that there with all nature rejoice— 
We, too, with the birds and all nature rejoice. 

But, whisperings come and remind us too soon 
It cannot be always the season of June ; 
For, soon, she will flee, a sweet vision from sight, 
And pass through the gates of eternal delight ; 
The pattering raindrops will sound her sad knell, 
And zephyrs will whisper a mournful farewell, 
While Ceres will come in her poppy hued crown, 
And pour from her chariot rich peace offerings down — 
Eich fruitage and grain, then, will Ceres pour down. 

Now, sunbeams descend, like arrows so keen, 
On city, on hamlet and valley between. 
Bright mantles for berries they skillfully weave. 
And on the round apple warm kisses they leave ; 



AND OTHER POEMS. 11 

On green, sloping hillside reposes the flock, 

The traveler seeks the cool shade of the rock. 

The song of the reaper is heard in the land, 

While Peace and rich Plenty pass by hand in hand; 

Youths, ever so happy, are dancing in tune 

Beneath the bright rays of the full harvest moon— 

Are joyfully dancing beneath the bright moon. 

Now, Sirius hovers o'er hill and o'er plain 
And eagerly drinks of the dew and the rain. 
Until the whole Earth cries out in her grief. 
That freshness and beauty should be all so brief. 
The fields, in the sunlight, lie naked and bare, 
All shorn of the strength of their bright golden hair; 
The bee hums in vain, for the clover's red bloom, 
The whistle of blackbird alone breaks the gloom- 
Thus, Sirius shrouds the whole Earth with his gloom. 

The voice, now, of Autumn is borne on the gale. 

The tread of his feet is now heard in the vale. 

He Cometh arrayed in most beautiful guise. 

With tintings and colors he caught from the skies. 

Where rainbow hued clouds smile down on the earth, 

Rejoicing again in its gladness and mirth; 

For Autumn, like Bacchus, comes wreathed with the 

vine. 
And drenches the earth with fresh, sparkling wine— 
The tears of the grape, the purple hued wine. 

But, that which is brightest is soonest to fade, 
Nor e'en can the beauties of Autumn be stayed. 
The nuts rattle down on the dead, rustling leaves. 
While Nature all blighted so mournfully grieves, 
For storm clouds arise and shadows grow long. 
And there's not e'en heard the faint note of a song. 
For the birds have all gone where the warm breezes 

sigh, 
Where Apollo hastes not in his car through the sky — 
Where the Day King holds longer his reign in the sky. 

Another brief season— a smile from the past— 
A prelude too sweet for the cold, wintry blast — 



12 THE THEEE BRIDES 

'Tis Indian Summer, the pearl of the year, 

Who decks with new beauty the earth brown and 

sere; 
Her beautiful banner she waves in the air- 
But, ah, she's as fleeting as wondrously fair, 
For the scepter of Winter breaks the magical spell, 
And winds from the Northland her mournful fate tell— 
''She's dead at his feet" the wild winds do tell. 

King Winter holds court where the flowers lie low, 
All hidden beneath the white pinioned snow, 
That seemeth a messenger toward the earth driven, 
To tell of the pureness and peace of high Heaven. 
The ice, 'mid the pine trees, like rich jewels gleams, 
While fettered and still are the once laughing streams. 
The Earth once made glad by the Summer's warm 

breath 
Lies shrouded and cold in the arms of stern death— 
The earth and the year sleep together in death. 

'Tis not only in Nature that Time worketh change, 
But in our own lives, in our hearts far more strange; 
For, again, in the year's circling round will appear 
The merry, young springtime and blossoms of cheer; 
But humanity robbed of its beauty and bloom 
Will never regain them this side of the tomb. 
Then brightest of roses and myrtle entwine, 
Oh, youth, 'round that radiant forehead of thine; 
Thy steps, with thy quick beating heart throbs keep 

tune, 
For life is not ever one bright day of June— 
Thou 'It find other days than the glad days of June. 

Oh, Earth is most fair in the morning of life, 
Before comes the noontide of sorrow and strife; 
We walk in the valley where soft shadows play, 
Where flowers of love and of joy deck the way, 
Where the bright birds of hope fill the air with tb.eir 

song 
And echoes from fancy the sweet strains prolong; 
Where the sky seems a mirror of beauty and truth, 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 13 

Reflecting the visions and hopes of gay youth— 
The dreams and the wishes and fancies of youth. 

The path grows more rugged, the shadows more deep, 

New aims and new purposes in our lives creep 

As the years come and go, fraught with pleasure and 

pain, 
With happy endeavor and labor in vain; 
The day dreams of youth we have left them behind, 
Realities now, are more clearly defined; 
The harvest of honor and fame gleameth white — 
Up, reaper, bring sheaves before conleth the night— 
Up, gleaner, seek grains ere the dark shades of night. 

It mattereth not though the thorns pierce our feet, 
That, weary and faint, we toil on in the heat; 
We heed not the burdens that come with the years, 
The gloomy forebodings, the sighs and the tears— 
From sheaves of fair Honor we'll fashion a crown, 
We'll garner the golden hued grains of renown— 
We'll gather, 'mid leaves, where sweet blossoms were 

rife 
Rich fruitage to gladden the Autumn of life— 
Sheaves, grain and rich fruit for the Autumn of life. 

But why does the path, now, grow dim to our sight? 

Why is it that pleasures no longer delight? 

Whence cometh the frost that now gleams in our hair? 

These wrinkles that furrow our brows once so fair? 

The Angel of Time hath the victory won 

And the winter of life hath sadly begun. 

But white winged Peace broodeth over the gloom 

And Hope sings of blessings beyond the cold tomb— 

Of a fair land of promise beyond the dark tomb. 

That land must be fair where cometh no night. 
Where sickness and sorrow ne'er enter to blight, 
Where all is illumined by light from the throne. 
Where reigneth our Father, in glory alone; 
Where the streets are of gold, where each pearly gate 
Shall never be opened to Death nor to Hate ; 



14 THE THEEE BEIDES 

For the rivers of Life, bearing blossoms of love 
Wind through the fair valleys of Heaven above— 
Wind o'er the bright plains of sweet Heaven above. 

There, never again will our eyes become dim, 
For tears cannot fall in the presence of Him 
Who left the bright shores of His heavenly home, 
To take up our burdens, o'er life paths to roam, 
There, never again will snows whiten our hair 
For storm clouds ne'er darken those skies ever fair; 
Time, there, writes no wrinkles on brow or on heart, 
For time of Eternity formeth no part; 
But, 'mong the glad angels, our harps we'll attune 
To breezes that whisper forever of June— 
For in Heaven, 'tis always the season of June. 



THE RAIN. 



The mist of the Kuro Siwo 

Had waited many a day. 
In a palace, high in cloudland. 

For envoys to come that way. 
From Phoebus and Eolus 

To plan the next campaign 
For the benefit of mortals 

Petitioning for rain. 

But the hosts of the sun were toiling 

Like a multitude of slaves, 
And the winds were soundly sleeping. 

Deep down in ocean's eaves; 
Unheard was the mist's upbraiding. 

Unheeded was mortal's prayer— 
They obey but the voice of nature — 

These powers of the air. 

In vain was the horizon 

Scanned by many an anxious eye. 
For the sight of some tardy rain cloud, 

Appearing in the sky; 



AND OTHER POEMS. 15 

Still the hot air drank the freshness 
Of forest, field and glen— 

The dust lay thick on the highways- 
Hope died in the hearts of men. 

The grasses were dead on the hillside, 

The seed lay unchanged in the earth, 
The 'streams were dry in the valleys. 

Naught of melody or of mirth 
Remained with child or with bird— 

E'en the cattle had the fear 
That dwelt in the breasts of their masters— 

That famine was drawing near. 

At last in convention assembled, 

Were the envoys of wind and sun, 
With the mist in the snow white palace 

Who greeted them every one. 
They knew that the need was urgent. 

And soon was heard the command 
To march with the crystal fountains, 

To the parched and thirsty land. 

First came an army of sunbeams— 
A gloriously beautiful throng— 

With lances and golden banners- 
Ten hundred thousand strong— 

Then came the wind's outriders, 
Whose bugle and trumpet's blare— 

With the chariot wheels advancing— 
Woke the echoes of the air. 



Drawn by the swiftest coursers 

Of the vast, aerial plain- 
On the jeweled seat of honor- 
Rode the mist, and not in. vain— 
For the treasures of rain were scattered. 

In warm and copious showers. 
On city, on farm and woodland. 
On the dying grass and flowers. 



16 THE THREE BRIDES 

With a pour, a plash and a patter, 

With a drip, a skip and a bound, 
With a rush, a roar and a rattle. 

It fell on the feverish ground. 
That drank of each shining globule, 

With a joy but half expressed. 
For the seeds and tiny rootlets. 

Within its ample breast. 

Then the sunbeams stacked their weapons, 

Their golden banners furled. 
Fell back all in good order, 

On the rim of the outer world ; 
While the winds attuned their voices 

To that of the playful breeze. 
That tossed the liquid diamonds 

From the over freighted trees. 

And to the brook's low murmur, 

As it bounded on with glee. 
Rejoicing in its freedom. 

To the calm and smiling sea. 
But the mist rode on triumphant. 

Still scattering the raindrops down 
On upland, lane and valley, 

On the slopes of the busy town— 
With a dash, a song and a gurgle— 

Now rapid and now slow, 
Until the western heavens 

Grew bright with a ruddy glow. 

A signal for sunbeams returning. 

With their lances bright and keen, 
To trace on the clouds a rainbow, 

The heavens and earth between ; 
For all mankind a token 

To behold through happy tears, 
And know that the Lord of the Seasons 

Is the same through the passing years. 

To know that He sendeth the treasures 
Of rain, of snow and of hail ; 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 17 



That His promise of the seedtime, 
And of harvest shall not fail ; 

That the choicest of all His blessings 
He sendeth from above, 

In the sunlight of His mercy. 
And the rainbow of His love. 



THE VIOLET. 



Half hidden in a wealth of leaves, 
The modest violets lie, 

Perfuming every passing breeze- 
Blue as the bending sky, 

Protected from the day's hot glare, 
Content to dwell unseen 

In some secluded, shaded nook, 
Unknown to flower queen. 

The fair, white lilies nod and smile 

On stems erect and tall. 
And fragrant roses, red and white, 

Bloom on the garden wall; 
Carnations stand in lovely guise 

Of colors rich and rare. 
And scatter spicy scents in clouds 

Of incense on the air. 
Carnation, rose or lily fair, 

Possesses not the power 
To please with all its varied charms, 

As the sweet violet flower. 

When some wild storm casts them to earth. 

Or falls the dashing rain, 
More sweet the odors they exhale— 

A recompense for pain. 

Oft viewing them the years unroll, 

And a vision will arise 
Of a half shy and graceful girl, 

With tender violet eyes. 



18 THE THEEE BEIDES 

Within a farmshouse, white and high, 

Among the orchard trees, 
Where, through the golden summer days, 

Are heard the birds and bees; 
Where meadows stretch their verdant lengths. 

E'en to the forest wild; 
Where th' dogwood blooms by rugged paths, 

Oft trodden when a child. 

And yet she dwells amid these scenes. 

Unmindful of the show 
And glitter of a noisy world— 

The surging to and fro 
Of restless crowds ; her heart attuned 

To Nature's moods; her ear 
Hears music in its varied themes, 

Not all the world can hear. 

When storms of grief swept o'er her path. 

With harsh and sullen roar. 
More fragrant seemed her gentle life. 

Than it had been before ; 
And so it seemeth not unmeet 

When violets I see. 
To think of that far distant friend, 

So near in memory. 



WORDS OF WELCOME TO THE WOMEN OP THE 
WORLD. 

Thrice welcome to these shores, ye of the big round 

earth. 
Bound to us by the ties of sisterhood. 
We deem it a high honor thus to greet 
The representatives of every land, 
The Old World culture, in its fairest forms, 
Come to adorn and learn the customs of the New. 
But task more pleasing still is it to note 
The touch of sympathy, that, like a thread of gold, 
Runs through the nature of all womankind — 
Soft as a rose leaf, strong as band of steel. 
Possessing power that can sway a world. 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 19 

Ye, from that Northland where the icy seas 

Reflect the splendor of the Northern Lights, 

And Summer chants her tuneful threnodies 

Beneath a midnight sun, will marvel at the scenes 

Ye here behold— not least among them all— 

The fruits and flowers of a genial clime. 

Scenes, that, in years to come, surrounded by loved 

ones. 
Will form the theme of many a fireside tale. 
When the white winter sleeps outside your doors. 

Ye, who, in childhood, searched for eidelweiss 

By Alpine glacier, and have watched the sunlight glow 

And fade upon the Matterhorn, will find 

Here scenes, sublime and beautiful, as in 

Your native land— of lofty mountain and 

Of crystal lake, set deep amid the hills. 

Of rocky gorge and swiftly flowing stream ; 

And who can tell? If from those hymns of freedom 

that 
Your fathers sang, that echoed 'mid the crags— 
E'en to the stars, the spirit did not find 
Its way across the sea to be enshrined 
Within the heart of this young nation that 
Desired so to be free — whose symbol is 
The statue standing at our outer gates 
Of Liberty Enlightening the World. 

A gift from your brave people, daughters of France, 
Who, from your sunny vales, now tread the soil 
Your fathers trod, when, in that anxious time, 
They shoulder stood to shoulder with our own 
On many a battlefield, to gain, for aye, 
The independence that we now enjoy; 
And thus it is that France is held so dear. 

Across the centuries, are seen three small. 

Frail ships, the guiding star of Destiny 

Their goal, that stood above the shores of wild 

America. A gentle woman sent them on 

Their way ; and, in her name, we greet you from 

That Spain, whose ships were first to turn their prows 



20 THE THREE BRIDES 

Toward the New World, whose soldiers, with 

Their swords, carved out new empires, and whose 

priests 
Were first to tell the story of the Cross 
From Mississippi's flood e'en to the Western Sea. 

Ye from those lands where once a Plato taught 
And Virgil sang will here behold works wrought 
With chisel, brush and pen, that well compare 
With the old masters; and, perchance, the source 
Of inspiration was the same. Where Mount 
Olympus frowns, by Arno's laughing wave, 
In old cathedrals, where soft music floats 
Through dim recesses and the pictured saints 
Look down as if to bless ; in palaces 
That gleam, in pristine beauty, 'neath the moon's 
Soft rays, though carved by hands that have been dust 
For ages; in whose gardens roses hold 
High carnival throughout the year; and where 
The nightingale trills forth its song through all 
The lonely hours— all set in sapphire frame 
Of sky above and of the sea around. 

We hear the music of the English tongue 
And know that, o'er the sea, has England sent 
Some worthy guests. 'Tis said of some of those 
Who tarry long in foreign lands that when they see 
Their country's banner floating in the breeze, or hear 
The accents of their native land, they weep for joy— 
'Tis thus the heart is loyal to its own. 
You will observe, the babe, reared on th' Atlantic 

shore. 
Whose lullaby was sound of breakers wild, 
Whose playground was the wood where Indians 

roamed, 
Has outgrown his environments and has 
Become the Giant of the West, but, yet. 
With reverence for the stock from which he sprang. 

Ye sisters of the Southland, whose republics lie 
By mighty streams, shadowed by mountains grand, 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 21 

Within whose breasts lie treasures inexhaustible, 
You, yet, are unaware of your great strength. 
You will be great in that good time when church 
And sehoolhouse dot more thickly all your vales. 
Take back this lesson learned 'neath bleaker skies 
That knowledge is a power and that toil 
Brings its reward to those who bravely strive. 

Ye, from those isles, that are as emeralds 
Upon a shining sea, let not the visions of 
Palm shaded homes and tropic afternoons 
Mar your enjoyment of these surging crowds, 
The stir and bustle in the marts of trade. 
The active movement, born of Northern blood. 
Though ruder sounds you hear than lap of waves 
Or music floating o'er a moonlit sea, 
Yet you catch glimpses of progressive life 
And ne'er again will the world seem so small. 

In this great city, the fair Mecca now. 
Toward which all eyes are turned, all footsteps tend, 
Are seen the products of all lands beneath the sun — 
Something delightful to each taste and mind — 
For princess, who has left her pomp behind, 
Well knowing, that, in this land, all are queens; 
For peasant, leading by the hand, perchance. 
Some young Columbus in the realms of thought. 
You view with pride the works of women shown 
On every hand, the product of skilled fingers and 
Of subtle brain. But these are silent witnesses- 
Seek out the homes of this great people if 
You would but learn the secret of their strength ; 
There, whether 'neath some vaulted city roof 
Or, in some humble cabin on the plain. 
You see the women wield an influence 
More potent than the ballot and more pure. 

They are the household angels, at whose knees. 
Their children learn to tread in Honor's way. 
Full many a precept falls on stony ground; 
But, oft, in after years, some half forgotten word 



22 THE THEEE BRIDES 

Will touch the erring one and bring him back; 
And, thus, the seed will bear fruit after all. 

With love and tenderness, like to Cornelia's, they, 
Too, can exclaim, with equal pride, "These are 
My jewels." Thinking not of self, each wish 
Subservient to the welfare of loved ones, 
Until, with Spartan firmness, they are sent 
To battle with the world— this work performed, 
They can lie down in peace to their last sleep. 

Not here alone, but other lands, as well, 

Attest the power of woman's guiding hand. 

In the gay circle, you have seen her wit 

And grace shine like a star, her beauty pave 

The way to proudest courts and homage win. 

Queen of a realm, or, peasant of the field. 

Home is her refuge and her loving pride. 

Her ministrations and her words of cheer 

Illumine life's dark places— though each deed be small— 

But is not life made up of little things? 

Ye, who have homes, so distant and so dear, 

How oft do visions of them rise amid 

These brilliant scenes — perchance, some castle gray, 

Some sunny garden where the children play. 

Or cheery room, where, when the shadows fall 

The loved ones gather and who sigh as they 

Glance toward a vacant chair. When weary of 

This ebb and flow of human tides, of foreign speech 

And faces, may the winds and waves be kind 

And waft you safely to your shores again. 



CHANGES. 



Happy, laughing Mabel Lee, 

Busy in the meadow 
Weaving daisy garlands rare 

'Neath the elm tree's shadow; 
Bathing, now, her dimpled feet 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 23 

Down among the rushes, 
Crimsoning lips and finger tips 

With the berries' blushes, 
Mocking a blue bird's roundelay— 

Sleeping, at last, on the fragrant hay. 



Lovely, graceful Mabel Lee 
Singing in the gloaming; 

Heart with lover far away 
O'er the blue sea roaming: 

"White winged ship, bear o'er the sea 
Him of noble daring — 

Bring him safely back to me 

Whose ring, as pledge, am wearing." 

Sang she, weaving a garland rare- 
Hope and love were the flowers there. 



Fair and stately Mabel Lee 
At the altar kneeling. 

Bridal veil and orange flowers 
Not wholly concealing 

Marks of care on cheek and brow ; 
Why this old man at her side? 

Where her youthful lover? 
Over loveless marriage vows 

Angry skies will hover; 
Ah, the story sad and old- 
Love exchanged for shining gold. 

Broken hearted Mabel Lee 

In her grave lies sleeping, 
Where the elm tree's aged boughs. 

O'er her, watch is keeping. 
Weary was she of the world. 

Of its pride and splendor ; 
Longed she for her childhood's heart - 

Innocent and tender ; 
Glad when Death's call came at last 

And life's troubled scenes were past. 



24 THE THKEE BRIDES 

HEED THAT CRY. 

Heed that cry 
The wind is bearing by 
Of that mother kneeling there, 
In the anguish of despair, 
By the bedside of her boy— 
Once her comfort, pride and joy; 
Sleeping now, the drunkard's sleep- 
Is it strange that she should weep? 
Brush the curls back from his brow, 
Truth and thought once reigned there ; 
Drunkenness hath marred each grace 
Graven on that boyish face. 

Heed that cry, 
Mingled moan and sigh. 
Pitiful to look upon 
Is that woman— hope all gone- 
Stricken down by Sorrow's hand; 
Once the happiest in the land. 
Then, for her, life's blossoms sweet 
Bloomed in beauty at her feet; 
Then, for her, no day too long, 
Bright with sunshine and with song. 
Now, furrowed cheek and silvered hair 
Are her's as by the hearthstone there, 
She sits alone— a drunkard's wife— 
And mourneth o'er a ruined life. 

Heed that cry, 
Where the shadows lie 
Darkly on a ruined home— 
Saddest sight, 'neath heaven's dome. 
Oh, the dreadful curse of drink ! 
See the little children shrink. 
Hearken to their tones of fear. 
As their father draweth near. 
Oh, how can he thus bestow 
Such a heritage of woe— 
Every dire calamity 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 25 

Following in rum's dread wake- 
Can he not for them forsake 
The artful and enticing snare 
Set within that barroom there. 

Heed that cry 
Filling earth and sky. 
Where arise dark prison walls, 
Where the gloom of almshouse falls, 
Where want, sorrow and vice meet 
In alley and in squalid street— 
A cry goes forth for purer laws— 
For helpers in the temperance cause 
To turn aside the deadly cup 
And lift frail human nature up, 
Up to a higher, nobler plane. 
Then will the dark and grievous stain 
Of drunkenness be soon effaced 
And the abodes of crime laid waste. 



VOICES OF THE NIGHT. 

The sun sinks in the West 

And shadows deeper grow; 
Upon the lake's calm breast 

There lies a crimson glow 
From sunset clouds that gleam, 

Dissolve and fade away; 
As fades the last faint beam 

Of the departing day. 

The plain lies dark and still, 

Hushed is its busy life; 
On mountain side and hill 

Are light and shade in strife; 
But where the heights appear 

To touch the bending skies 
The sunlight shineth clear; 

Then, it, too, fades and dies. 



THE THREE BRIDES 

And Night, with ebon wings, 

Descends upon the earth; 
No more the woodland rings 

With music, or, with mirth 
The fields, where children played. 

The whippoorwill's wild plaint 
Ceased with the twilight shade. 

The owl, without restraint. 
Hoots through the forest aisle, 

Disturbing, in their nest, 
The prey it would beguile. 

That chirp a faint protest. 

The night birds, as they pass, 

Where Katydid denies, 
With insects in the grass. 

Make shrill and vague replies ; 
The watchdog, at the farm, 

Sends out upon the air 
His bay, as if from harm 

To keep the sleepers there. 

The tireless, iron steed 

Of single, fiery eye, 
With swift, impetuous speed. 

Goes, with his burden, by, 
Of precious, human souls 

Beneath the night's dark frown - 
A wave of light, it rolls 

On to the sleeping town. 

A sob comes from the sea, 

The wind sighs in the pine ; 
A wondrous minstrelsy. 

From where wild roses twine 
Within a rocky dell, 

Is wafted by the breeze— 
Of waterfalls, that tell 

To all the whispering trees. 
Of a brook's laughing flow; 

Upon whose mossy brink, 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 27 

Where purple violets blow, 
Wild creatures come to drink. 

Forth from that lofty tower 

The bells ring out the time 
Of midnight's solemn hour — 

What sweetness in their chime ! 
By the free night wind borne 

O'er halls where feasts are spread, 
O'er homes whose inmates mourn. 

O'er cities of the dead. 

These know not hope or fear, 

These feel not joy or pain ; 
On dull, unheeding ear 

Time's message rings in vain. 
Dear, silent ones, who sleep 

In graves out there alone, 
Where stars their vigils keep, 

Ye cannot hear the moan 
Of anguish at our loss, 

Ye cannot see the tears 
That fall, or know the cross 

Borne for you, through the years. 

And, thou, dear, restless one, 

Koaming the wide world o'er— 
Somewhere beneath the sun ; 

How can we shut the door 
And leave thee there without— 

Perchance, where billows rage; 
Oh, ever thus in doubt — 

Unrest thy heritage. 

Will e'er desire to roam 

Yield to a safe return? 
Will e'er the lights of home. 

In welcome, brightly burn? 
The wind sounds like a wail 

Wrung from the breast of Night, 



28 THE THEEE BEIDES 

And, on the rising gale, 

The clouds speed in their flight 

Across the fields on high; 
And hidden is each star 

Behind a blackening sky— 
The thunder peals from far. 

And, now, the dashing rain 

Makes music all its own 
On roof and window pane— 

A pleasing monotone; 
Until there cometh peace 

To sky and wind and wave, 
As Nature bids them cease 

To silence, deep and grave. 



LET THE BLESSED SUNSHINE IN. 

Open windows and the doors — 
Let the blessed sunshine in. 
"What, though, on rich plush it pours; 
Let the 'broidered roses pale 
'Neath the sunlight's ardent gaze 
Rather than your own should fail, 
Lacking its health giving rays; 
Would you well the day begin— 
Let the blessed sunshine in. 

Open th' windows of your soul— 
Let the blessed sunshine in. 
Then, the mists will there unroll. 
Shone on by the light of truth; 
Scattered will be doubts and fears; 
Th' fountain of eternal youth 
You will drink from through the years. 
To be true and free from sin 
Let the blessed sunshine in. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 

Find your way to people's hearts — 
Let the blessed sunshine in; 
Wounded by the world's keen darts- 
Light those on their rugged way 
Who are suffering from defeat, 
Wait not for their funeral day 
To say something kind and sweet- 
Say it now— just now begin— 
Let the blessed sunshine in. 



TO BE CONTENT. 

Learn, thou, to be content 
Oh, Soul, 

To be content. 
Behold the matchless skies. 
The hills that proudly rise 
Beyond the vale, that lies 
A green and shining gem 
In Nature's diadem; 
The blue, tempestuous sea, 
The soft winds, blowing free — 
All, all were made for thee — 

From Heaven sent, 

Thy own fair goal; 
Then learn to be content 
Oh, Soul, 

To be content. 

Learn, thou, to be content 
Oh, Soul, 
To be content. 
What, though, no palace fair, 
No jewels, rich and rare, 
Nor wealth beyond compare 
Thou e'er can'st call thine own- 
Poor art thou and unknown ; 
While, some, great deeds have done, 



30 THE THREE BRIDES 

Some, wealth and glory won, 
While thy name, there are none, 
Through years well spent 
To write it on Fame's scroll; 
Yet, still, be thou content 
Oh, Soul, 
Be thou content. 

Strive, thou, to be content 
Oh, Soul, 

To be content. 
If thou hast humble cot 
In some secluded spot- 
How happy is thy lot! 
There 'mid loved ones and flowers 
To pass the fragrant hours. 
Away from Envy's dart. 
Away from Pride 's keen smart ; 
To the world weary heart 

Blest banishment. 

The years will roll 
Too soon in sweet content. 
Oh, Soul, 

In sweet content. 



THE DEBTOR'S PRISON. 

One ray of sunlight stole through dungeon grim 
And lit a pathway to a corner dim. 
Where, on a rugged couch, an old man lay, 
Shut out from hope and the sweet light of day. 
Something there was, both in his face and mien, 
Which told of better days that he had seen. 
His thoughtful brow bore not the mark of Cain, 
His toil worn hands of crime betrayed no stain- 
Then, why, in this broad country of the free 
Was this old man deprived of liberty? 
List to his words and then deplore the times 
When prisons yawn for men unstained by crimes. 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 31 

"In my young manhood, heart and hope beat high, 

No cloud bedimmed the brightness of my sky; 

Health waited on me; friends on every side — 

My wife and children dear— our home my pride. 

Prosperity was mine and toil was sweet; 

I smoothed life's rugged ways for th' helpless feet 

Of those whose wants more numerous became, 

As each succeeding year, the vital flame 

Sank lower in my breast, until the day 

When strength was gone and riches sped away. 

Then, friends forsook me and misfortune's train 

Of evil spectres— sorrow, want and pain, 

Surrounded me— they followed to the tomb 

My loved ones, and, 'mid gathering gloom. 

That thickened 'round and o'er me like a pall, 

Heard clang of prison gates— chief woe of all." 



"Why should I grieve? How rich we mortals are 
When Thought can travel to the farthest star 
And people vast immensities of space, 
And in all Nature's works a system trace. 
What terrors should have bolts and bars for me 
When, soon, the glories of Eternity 
Shall break upon my vision, and the shore 
Be reached, where loved ones gone before 
Shall meet me with glad weleomings, and youth 
And love be mine in the fair realms of Truth. 
My greatest sorrow and sincerest care 
Are for those, who my dreary prison share," 



"There is immured within these gloomy walls 
A youth on whom no shadow of crime falls. 
Save that he spent a fortune recklessly. 
Fell into debt— of bitter penury 
He drank the dregs where once was sweet delight; 
Life's rosy morn sunk into darkest night. 
The law condemns him to an idler's fate 
When his strong arm is needed by the State. 



32 THE THEEE BEIDES 

Thus his young manhood and his sturdy health 
Become a tax upon the Commonwealth ; 
While, criminals, with lives of blackest dye 
Walk forth, untrammeled, 'neath the open sky." 

"There is, so near that I can hear her weep 

Through the long hours, when the sweet balm of sleep 

Consoles me not, a woman young and fair— 

Her sobs sound weirdly on the midnight air; 

Incurring debt for sake of great display, 

Has brought her to a narrow cell today. 

How could she think that dress would make amends 

For home's sweet scenes and love of humble friends; 

That silks and laces fair could heal the smart 

Made by her folly, on each trusting heart. 

But, still, the Law's arm falls too heavily 

On one whose greatest crime is vanity." 

"In the new Century's enlightening beams"— 

What have I done that sleep should bring such 

dreams ? 
The youth, the maiden and the man of years 
Pass in the night, with all their hopes and fears. 
The hearth is cold, the lights are burning low. 
Within the room, strange shadows come and go; 
My hand clasps yet the paper— the sole cause 
Of visions wild and new; strange code of laws. 
Wove in the tangled fancies of my brain, 
At intervals, when will had ceased to reign; 
A plea from creditors, in sore distress. 
The Legislature asking for redress 
Of grievances from that great debtor band, 
That prey, like harpies on a generous land. 



BURIED ALIVE. 



Oh, for the power to utter a cry 
That might be heard by the passers by 
Gazing, perhaps, at the crape on the door- 
The look of gladness their faces wore ' 



AND OTHER POEMS. 33 

Saddened by the emblem that doth remind 

Of the common fate of all mankind. 

Like the roar of waves come the sounds of the street, 

Soft blows the west wind with fragrance sweet; 

Through the rooms, to and fro, with faltering tread, 

Go loved ones mourning me as one dead; 

Kneeling beside me in grief and in pain. 

Calling my name, alas, calling in vain — 

Could I but move the one breadth of a hair 

Would not their loving eyes note the change there? 

Tenderly, gentle hands now my form place, 
Within a casket's abhorred embrace; 
Can it be, can it be, this is my doom 
To be borne conscious to the dark tomb ! 
Hark to the sobs and the songs rising clear — 
The hymns I best love falling sweet on the ear. 

Over the threshold they bear me away — 

Th' threshold, it seems but as yesterday, 

I passed o'er radiant with hope and with health; 

The future made golden by love's promised wealth 

To be gleaned from the harvests whose seeds I had 

sown — 
That future now reaching out, dreary and lone. 
Limited by the small space of a grave, 
For the rain to fall on and the grasses to wave 
O'er it, with only the angels to know 
Th' secret grim, hid in the mold below. 

Winds the procession with scarcely a sound 
Through the streets on to the hallowed ground. 
To whose portals are borne the fairest and best; 
Foes, here, as comrades now tranquilly rest; 
Friends, whom I love, to whom I am dear 
Will you, deluded, thus leave me here? 
Oh, for the time coming when science will take 
Measures preventing such fatal mistake. 

Down, down they lower me to my last sleep; 
Dear friends, good reason you have to weep. 
The scent of the roses oppresses the air- 
Stifling me, th' clods fall— oh, black despair! 



34 THE THEEE BEIDES 

Heard ye that cry piercing the air of night, 
A cry of horror and wild affright? 
Borne from a beautiful, dimly lit room. 
Whose air is heavy with rich perfume 
Of the sweet violet, lily and rose ; 
Where lies a fair dreamer in th' dread throes 
Of a dream, that in such an air doth thrive— 
A dream of being buried alive. 



WAITING. 



I have smoothed my wayward tresses 

And bound them back with blue, 
And have fastened at belt and on bosom 

Rosebuds, damp with the evening dew ; 
And now I am waiting for him. 

But for him, the one truest and best 
Of men, who, loving one woman, 

Pays due homage to all the rest. 

How serenely sweet and how pleasant 

The hour and the dim lighted room; 
The south wind merely stirring the curtains 

And wafting in breaths of perfume 
From the garden where the sweet honeysuckle 

Bendeth low to the meek mignonette. 
And the old fashioned pinks and the roses 

Fill with beauty the place they are set. 

A June night flooded with moonlight ! 

A woman's heart flooded with love! 
The bird's have ceased twittering their vespers 

In the green, swaying branches above 
And the great world is hushed into silence— 

The turmoil of the day is now o'er, 
And strong Labor sitteth aweary, 

'Neath the vines of his cottage door. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 35 

Hark, a footfall now sounds in the distance— 
Far adown the long village street— 

A familiar step, eager and manly, 
That my heart goeth forth to meet. 

If a thousand feet passed on the pavement- 
Only heard but unseen by the eye 

And the step that I hear were among them 
I would know that my lover went by. 

Or, if I were by Como's bright waters, 

Dreaming all the long summer day, 
At the faintest sound of that footfall 

All my dreams would vanish away ; 
He is coming, the gate latch is lifted 

And the tall grasses bend 'neath his tread, 
And the elm trees are whispering the secret — 

**By the spirit of love he is led." 

A low knock at the door— he is coming, 

E 'en my pulses well know who is there ; 
Tide of crimson, flow back to your fountains, 

For my face, I would fain have you fair. 
I will go to the door to receive him— 

Oh, my heart, what is this I behold ! 
"Miss, if you've any scraps left from your supper. 

Sure, to ask them of you I'll make bold." 



OLD LETTERS. 



The Day, with its golden shuttle. 

Had woven a curtain fair 
To hang in the western gateway— 

A beauteous picture there ; 
Its colors, now, half hidden 

By the night mists sweeping down. 
Through which the fire flies glimmer 

And the lights of the distant town. 



36 THE THREE BRIDES 

Deep gloom enshrouds the valley- 
Like a pall, hangs o'er the sea; 

And the shadows of the night-time 
In my soul find sympathy; 

As the Past, for the fleeting Present, 
Lights a torch to reveal the years, 

And the faces of friends long vanished, 
Last seen through blinding tears; 

And forms of grace and beauty. 
Concealed within the grave 

In many a distant churchyard. 
Where rippling grasses wave. 



Draw closely, now, the curtains, 

Let the lamp-light's mellow glow 
Fall on these faded letters, 

The relics of long ago ; 
When joyous seemed the future, 

When hope and faith were strong 
And the air was filled with the voices 

Of melody and song. 

Dear hand, that penned this missive 

Of counsel and of cheer. 
How my heart has longed for its pressure 

Through many a weary year; 
For many a long year folded 

Above the peaceful breast 
And the spirit freed from sorrow 

In the regions of the blest. 



And here, a bundle of letters 

Writ in a boyish hand. 
When flowed a tide of crimson 

Through the sunny, southern land. 
Oft, on the eve of battle. 

When the foe was drawing near, 
He would pen some cheering message 

To those he held most dear. 



AND OTHEK POEMS. 37 

But, one day came the tidings— 

Sad tidings, that smote the heart — 
That the soldier boy had fallen, 

Performing a hero's part. 
Where the brightly glancing waters 

Of the blue Potomac roll, 
There lies serenely sleeping 

A brave, heroic soul. 

These bearing foreign postmarks — 

From the Tiber's yellow tide, 
From the waterways of Venice, 

From cities in the pride 
Of palace, mosque and temple; 

Upon whose crowded streets, 
A strangely speaking people 

The homesick traveler meets. 

On each page a confession— 

Although not oft expressed— 
Most prized are the old friendships, 

That scenes of home are best; 
Not castle nor cathedral. 

However nobly planned, 
Charms as the humblest cottage 

Of one's own native land. 

And these from one whom Honor 

Crowned with a deathless name ; 
And these, whose sun of promise 

Went down in sin and shame; 
These, written in life's springtime, 

From one now gray and old; 
And, these, from the hand of a toiler, 

Who hoardeth, now, his gold. 

Old letters, yours the mission 

To stir the embers of youth 
And strew o'er the wastes of a lifetime 

Mementos of love and truth ; 



38 THE THEEE BEIDES 

As, back of the clouds and the darkness 
The moon mounts o'er the pine, 

To shine on the graves of your writers— 
That, soon, will shine on mine. 



THE WORKING MAN. 

When the sun, with rosy fingers, 

Draws aside night's dusky shade, 
Then are heard the rapid footsteps 

Of the sturdy Toil Brigade ; 
Ringing on the city pavement. 

On the dew gemmed woodland lane, 
On the rugged mountain pathway. 

On the harvest gilded plain. 

Where the proud ship rides at anchor. 
Waiting for her seamen bold ; 

Where the shaft has pierced the Earth's breast, 
Laying bare her veins of gold; 

Where the great trees tower skyward, 
Waiting for the woodman's blow; 

Where the plow stands in the furrow- 
To such scenes these heroes go. 

No gay uniform bedecks them ; 

Martial music is not heard 
On the way, nor brilliant banners 

By the morning breeze are stirred. 
Having "Duty" for their watchword, 

Purpose writ on flag unfurled. 
Firm resolve on every feature 

As they go to serve the world. 

Fame and Fortune may be waiting 

For a few adown the way, 
But to most will the tomorrow 

Be the same as yesterday. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 39 

Marching onward, toiling ever, 

Happy if the view before 
Holds for them but Love and Plenty 

Smiling from some cottage door. 

Braver than the bravest warriors, 

Victor crowned by loyal hand ; 
Greater than the wisest statesmen, 

Famed and praised throughout the land, 
Are the humblest of these heroes, 

Drawing water, hewing stone; 
Their 's a mission greater even 

Than the King's upon his throne. 



WESTERN WONDERS. 

Now, Muse, attune with pleasing note 
While on the stream of Time we float 
A few short years, when the Far West 
Was by the white man yet unblest. 
Save by a few, who loved the moods 
Of Nature in her solitudes 
Too well to be enslaved by art 
Within the city's throbbing heart. 

'Here, forests stood in stately pride 
As if they time and storm defied; 
Within their depths did panther roam, 
Here, deer and rabbit, found a home; 
The grape-vine swung from the lofty oak. 
The blue-bird's song the stillness broke, 
And savage youth his arrows made 
Within the woodland's cooling shade. 

Here, too, was boundless prairie seen — 
A waving, billowy sea of green — 
Where buffalo roamed, free as the air 
And flowers bloomed on a bosom fair. 
Within whose veins ran a sluggish tide,- 
The mirror of the Indian bride. 



40 THE THREE BRIDES 

Where forests stood now cities stand, 

The pride and wonder of the land; 

The tilling of the prairie soil 

Full well repays the farmer's toil, 

And scattered thick, o'er plain, by stream. 

Ten thousand hearthstones brightly gleam. 

The Indian's bark canoe no more 
Skims, with wild grace, the waters o'er; 
No more, his wigwam dots the place— 
The dwelling of a simple race, 
That owneth not a rood of land 
Where once their fathers held command. 
A race untaught, of stalwart frame, 
That loveth not the white man's name. 

By the Missouri's sluggish wave, 
Where the wild Kansas finds a grave, 
On hills, where red men passed the hours, 
Stands now a city, rich in towers; 
It stands, today, the Golden Gate 
For Kansas' young and rising state, 
It is, today, will ever be 
The home of thought and energy. 

Oh, city, glittering in the sun ! 

Many the victory by thee won 

O'er rugged Nature's frowning look — 

So many, 'twould require a book 

To tell thy "ups and downs" and still 

Thy people love each rocky hill ; 

And, though thou art in years yet young 

Still will thy praises well be sung 

In every land, in every zone, 

Where Kansas City's name is known. 



THE TWO BURIALS. 

On St. Helena's rugged shores 

'Gainst which the blue waves beat, 

Enveloping the gray, old rocks 
As with a winding sheet; 



AND OTHER POEMS. 41 

Where naught is heard to break the calm 

That fills the air around, 
Except the sea bird's lonely cry 

And ocean's murmuring sound; — 



A grave is made, a narrow grave 

For the resting place of one 
Who, but so short a time before. 

Such glorious deeds had done; 
Who had filled the world with clash of arms 

And lofty battle song; 
And had, with spirit firm and bold. 

Spurned right instead of wrong. 

Who had waved his silken banner fair 

O'er many a clime and sea; 
Had battled with the strong of arm 

And chained the brave and free ; 
Whose dauntless spirit prompted him 

To visit distant lands— 
To traverse Russia's glittering snows 

And Egypt's burning sands. 

Carry him slowly, oh, soldier, grim, 

To this grave where the willows weep; 
Lower him gently, this warrior brave, 

To his last, long, dreamless sleep ; 
Roll the stone carefully over his tomb. 

Press smoothly the damp, yielding sod. 
Speak low and kindly of the great dead, 

And leave him alone — with his God. 

Weep, oh, France, for your hero, who lies 

So far from the scenes of his glory. 
Tell to the world the spirit you've lost 

And the winds will so waft the sad story, 
That nations afar will take up the tale 

And learn of the hero who's fallen; 
While some will rejoice and some will lament 

O'er the death of the mighty Napoleon. 



42 THE THREE BRIDES 

From heathen India's burning skies 

A ship comes o 'er the foam ; 
Its precious freight a little band 

Bound for their early home. 
Blow soft, oh, winds, ye skies, be fair 

And billows cease to roll; 
Nor gales arise, nor storms descend, 

'Till these have reached their goal. 

For many years, this noble man 

And gentle, saint-like wife 
Had followed in the footsteps plain 

Made by the Saviour's life; 
Their mission was on India's plains 

To scatter truth and love 
And point these erring, heathen ones 

To brighter plains above. 

But, longings come amid their toil 

To see their friends once more; 
To hear again sweet, welcoming words 

And tread their native shore; 
To press again the hands of those 

Fast bound by friendship's chain. 
And 'twas for this they left their cause 

To cross the raging main. 

But, Death, "who loves a shining mark," 

Had singled for his own 
Her from whose pure and gentle soul 

Each grace resplendent shone; 
And so the rose-tint left her cheek 

As brightness did her eye; 
And, mournfully, her faithful friends 

Stood 'round to see her die. 

On St, Helena's lonely isle, 

By the side of the sounding sea. 
They made her a grave where naught could disturb 

Save Nature's minstrelsy. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 

Take one more look at her pale, sweet face 
Ere you lower her into the tomb, 

Chant one more dirge and scatter fresh flowers 
Before you depart through the gloom. 

Weep, oh, India's dusky sons. 

For your friend and Christian guide 
Who, all these long and weary years. 

Was ever at your side; 
And, weep, oh, husband, standing alone 

By the grave of your cherished one — 
But, rejoice, oh, angels, for by their loss, 

Her joys have just begun. 

On St. Helena's rugged shores, 

'Gainst which the blue waves beat. 
Enveloping the gray, old rocks 

As with a winding sheet— 
Two graves were made— two narrow graves 

For the sunbeams to illumine ; 
In the one was laid a soldier brave. 

In the other a Christian woman. 

(Mrs. Judson.) 



TIRED. 



"I am so tired," the little child said 
As he sank to rest in his trundle bed. 
''AH the day long, 'mid the garden bowers, 
I've chased the bees and plucked the flowers. 
Until the sun became weary too, 
And sank to rest in his bed of blue. 
While the stars came out to light the sky 
And guide the angels passing by." 

' ' Why am I thus ? This morn I was not 
As I went to play in th' accustomed spot; 
My limbs were active and free from pains 
While now they seem as bound with chains. 



THE THEEE BRIDES 

Sweet child, the answer comes e'en now 
While weary nature bathes your brow, 
And sweet influences 'round you creep 
To waft you to the realms of sleep. 

While yet in infancy, you gain 

That in all of joy there's much of pain ; 

The roses you pressed this sunny morn 

Contained among them many a thorn; 

The bee that passed on shining wing 

But hid from view a cruel sting; 

So, the sweets of life though they you bless 

Contain the pains of weariness. 

"I am so tired," said he whose name 
Is written high on the roll of fame; 
"Tired of strife and noisy debate. 
Tired of guiding the 'Ship of State'; 
Of the servile bow and the hollow smile 
That ill conceal the serpent's guile; 
But, tired of more than all beside. 
This lofty seat though fair and wide." 

"How I have toiled and not in vain 
A mocking phantom to obtain ; 
It beckoned me from the vale of rest, 
Where peace and love alone are blest, 
To seek it on Ambition's steep. 
Where lofty Power his vigils keep ; 
But, now, the toiling all is done, 
The crown is mine, the scepter won," 

"But what have I gained through all these years, 

So fraught with care and stormy fears? 

'Tis true that glory decks my brow 

But, ah, its weight is heavy now; 

Voices of praise sound on my ear 

But loving friends I do not hear; 

What to me is a deathless name 

When clods shall cover my weary frame ? ' ' 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 45 

"I am SO tired," the old man cried 

As he stood the surging sea beside; 

While the fitful blasts of briny air 

Played with his snowy locks of hair ; 

And his form was bent with the weight, I ween, 

Of the many cares he had stopped to glean 

While passing o'er the plains of Life, 

Where toil and care are all so rife. 



**The way was long and rough to me 
Before I came to this rushing sea, 
The ebb and flow of whose mighty tide 
But tell me tales of mortals' pride— 
The thorns have pierced my weary feet, 
My lips are parched with burning heat. 
My eyes are dim with falling tears— 
I wait for the ebb of the tide of years." 

**I know that on the other shore 

There will be rest forevermore 

For the weary ones of earth below. 

Who sadly on this journey go 

From sunny youth with its smiles and tears 

Onward through manhood's riper years. 

Till we come to the shores of Death's dark sea 

And are borne on its waves to Eternity." 



THE CHILD AND THE ROSE. 

I gave to the child a rose 

All fragrant and sparkling with dew, 
And I said in my heart, little child. 

This rose is just like you; 
Blooming so fresh and fair, 

Sent by the angels above 
Down to this sad, dark world 

To cheer by your smiles of love. 



46 THE THREE BRIDES 

I took from the earth a rose, 

All drenched by the night's cold rain, 
And on the grave of my beautiful one 

I laid it in grief and pain; 
For it had passed in the night 

Back to the fadeless bloom 
Of the amaranthine bowers above 

And left me only a tomb. 



LINES IN AN ALBUM. 

In Life's fair book thou'rt writing, 

Day by day ; 
And what therein is traced 

Will ever stay. 
Nor wish nor word of thine 
May change a single line— 
There, dark 'twill be or shine 

Alway. 

Of pages in that book 

Are seventeen, 
Writ with thy thoughts and deeds, 

My Josephine; 
And when they all are done, 
Well finished as begun, 
May Heaven then be won, 

Aunt Rene. 



LINES TO M 



The sky broodeth low o'er the mountains, 

Each peak and each crag gleams with snow ; 
The canons e'en rival in whiteness 

The clouds that are floating below. 
The winds have, in awe, hushed their voices. 

Not a sound of the wild bird or bee— 
There's naught but deep silence and sadness 

In this scene for you, friend, and me. 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 47 

Far down lies the beautiful valley 

Where Summer loves best to unfold 
Her wonders and lay a mosaic, 
Mosaic of green and of gold ; 
With rivers that glimmer and wander 

And sing on their way to the sea 
And kiss the bowed heads of the lilies, 
That bloom there for you, friend, and me. 

The snow in your dark hair is shining. 

Care sits on your brow as on mine. 
Our joys are less bright, our steps are less light, 

Than in days of the ''auld lang syne"; 
But down in our hearts may dwell summer. 

There, blossoms of love may yet be, 
And hope's birds, that sing in all seasons, 

Will yet sing for you, friend, and me. 



COMING HOME. 



Sweet the hymns of the forest. 

The anthems sung by the sea 
And the laughter of rill in the meadow- 

But the sweetest music to me 
Falls on my ear when the shadows 

Gather thickly in the lane, 
For then a loved one cometh. 

Whistling some joyous strain. 

Long though the day and toilsome, 

Burdened with many a care; 
For the stern duties of manhood 

Are for him to brave and bear; 
Still when the evening shadows 

Show that day is on the wane. 
Homeward he cometh whistling 

The notes of some old refrain. 



48 THE THREE BEIDES 

Even as in boyhood, 

Weary of comrades and play, 
Longing for the home nest, 

Toward it makes his way ; 
Glad of the light in the window, 

Trudging through fog and rain- 
Gleefully waking the echoes, 

Whistling some boyish strain. 

Shattered in every lifetime 

Are some cups of joy; 
With our sweetest pleasures 

There is mingled some alloy. 
But no vain repining 

Over Fortune's frown or pain 
If he comes homeward whistling 

Some old, familiar strain. 

Love is the ruling power 

On this earthly sphere, 
Infinite love doth govern 

The world that lies so near ; 
Where, some day, 'mid voices, 

Blending in harmony, 
His voice will waft the message— 

He is coming home to me. 



THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. 

Beautiful of face and form. 

Rich in rippling tresses, 

Only seemed she born for joy, 

Love and fond caresses. 

Dark eyes so bright. 
Round arms as white 

As lilies on the water; 

No one so fair in all the land 

As Maud, the miller's daughter. 



AND .0THER POEMS. 

Reared 'mid scenes where Nature blends 
Woodland, glen and bower, 
Stateliness she took from pine, 
Grace from every flower; 

And ne'er was heard 

The song of bird 
More sweet than her merry laughter; 
'Twould thrill the heart like an old love tune, 
Remembered for aye after. 

Wealth nor rank o'er her fair head 
Reared a stately palace; 
Fortune's hand held not for her 
The sweets of luxury's chalice; 

Yet no proud dame 

Of noble name 
Would better grace an Eden 
With pleasing charms and winning ways 
Than this sweet village maiden. 

Vine embowered her dwelling stood 
On a green sward, sloping 
Downward to the pleasant banks 
Of a stream, that, groping 

Through verdant gloom 

And tangled bloom 
Its way went onward sweeping 
To turn a moss grown mill-wheel 'round. 
Then, on through green fields creeping. 

Humble though her roof-tree, yet 
Nature showered her fairest 
Offerings on the spot, from 
Wood and field the rarest; 

Shells from the shore 

That evermore 
Shall sound of the sea's low sighing; 
Moss, sweet singing birds and flowers; 
With each other in beauty vying. 

Bird and bee will find the flower 
Hidden in the wildwood. 



50 THE THREE BRIDES 

So, lovers found this human rose 
Blooming sweet from childhood; 

To sue in vain 

Her love to gain; 
Not the rich tones of the pastor 
Could win her, nor the squire's heaped gold, 
Nor lore of the village master. 

Loved she well at eventide 
When the day, grown weary. 
Rested on his crimson couch 
And the night wind dreary 
Whispered in the green pine tops— 

To watch the gleam 

Fade from the stream 
To brighten village bowers 
And linger last as though loved best 
On Courtney Hall's fair towers. 

Good night twitter of bird, 

Fire flies in dim fields dancing. 

Perfume on west wind borne, 

Stars from their blue depths glancing; 

E'en charms as these 

Would fail to please, 
If had not fallen the shadow, 
That day, of heir of Courtney Hall 
On bridge or daisied meadow. 

Childhood's bright winged hours, meanwhile, 
O'er them ceased to hover; 
She no maiden vain became, 
He no foolish lover; 

As one by one 

The years sped on 
Since first they shared their pleasures; 
Together read some legend wild 
Or searched for woodland treasures. 

Dear she was to him and fair- 
Fairer than the morning 



AND OTHER POEMS. 51 

Dew gemmed, or the flakes each year 
Threw down the earth adorning. 

In his glad youth 

The unwelcome truth 
Ne'er crossed his mental vision, 
That wedded rank and humble birth 
Might mar their lives elysian. 

One great lesson she had learned 
From the book of Nature— 
Love the theme, beginning, end— ' 
Love for every creature; 

Yet in her breast 

A vague unrest 
Would creep were he not sharing, 
As none else could, each passing joy 
That her young life was wearing. 

Thus as streamlets were their lives, 
Side by side descending 
From their mountain home, 'mid banks 
Blue with love's flowers, wending. 

In joyous glee. 

Their way to the sea. 
Too soon the time was nearing 
Of ice bound brook and wintery sky 
And songsters disappearing. 

Bitterly the old lord spoke 
Of the fullest duty 
Owed him— that no heir of his 
Should be lured by beauty;— 

Of high degree 

His bride should be, 
Not one of lowly station. 
Whose very presence in their midst 
Would be contamination. 

Proudly, then, the young lord spoke : 
"Dearest, cease your weeping; 
Deep our love and wide the world. 
We'll seek its kindly keeping; 



THE THEEE BRIDES 

Like Knight of old, 

Firm, true and bold, 
I'll win by high endeavor; 
While you will be my lady Maud, 
And I your true lord ever." 

They, then, over hill and moor 
Soon were swiftly speeding ; 
Ivied tower and ancient mill 
From their sight receding; 

Away, away, 

'Neath light of day 
The world seems fair and smiling; 
Speed on, with youth and hope and love 
Your every care beguiling. 

The port is reached, their union blessed 
By priest for joy or sorrow— 
The blue sea beckons them away— 
Their good ship sails tomorrow. 

Nor time nor fate 

May separate 
Whom God hath joined together, 
Through all the changing scenes of life— 
Of fair or stormy weather. 

The good ship sails, on deck they stand 
Viewing with emotion 
Their loved land fade, then disappear— 
Blent with the mists of ocean. 

But wind and wave 

They gladly brave 
So they may not be parted; 
What to him is rank or gold 
If she be broken hearted? 

Borne to a fair and sunny land. 
Turn they radiant faces 
Ever towards the setting sun- 
Journeying 'mid strange places, 

Until is found 

A spot of ground 



AND OTHEB POEMS. 

On which to rear home *3 altar ; 

A task, in which, with love and zeal. 

Its bnilders may not falter. 

But vanished, now, its cheerful lights— 
For o'er the sea came tidings- 
Happy tidings— words of love 
Expressed instead of ehidings: 
"Our hearts are lone. 
Come to your own 
Of titled wealth, forgiven 
You and your bride for love's sweet sake, 
For which you well have striven." 



THE OLD HOUSE BY THE SEA. 
Grim, deserted and dreary. 

The house on the lone beach stands, 
Like the hull of a shipwrecked vessel 

Cast there by the shifting sands ; 
Ancient and weather beaten. 

The sport of wind and of tide; 
The owl and the bat haunt its rafters— 

O'er its floor the lizards glide. 

Like great eyes the uncurtained windows 

Ever look out o'er the sea. 
Watching as if for something 

To reveal the mystery 
Why comes not a light craft sailing, 

Sailing out of the gleaming west. 
To be moored again by the stairway. 

By the inmates feet oft pressed; 

Leading up to the time stained doorway, 
Through which in the long ago, 

Forth came a happy household 
To descend to the waves below. 

Lapping gently sand and seaweed- 
Fair and smiling the ocean lay, 

As, embarked on its tranquil bosom. 
Light of heart they sailed away. 



54 THE THBEE BEIDES 

But o'er the face of Nature 

Slowly there came a change; 
Dim and dimmer grew the sunlight 

While a silence weird and strange 
Brooded over the waters— 

E'en the beasts and birds on land 
Seemed bound by a mystic silence, 

As if awed by some stern command. 

Broken by a low wailing 

Borne o'er the face of the deep, 
Like the cry of some lost spirit, 

Wakened from troubled sleep. 
Then the Storm King blew his trumpet, 

Summoning from ocean's caves 
The wild demons of destruction 

To disport on the bounding waves. 

Oh, for the proud ship plunging 

Wildly amid the foam, 
Oh, for the weak hands clinging 

To the frail bark far from home. 
Spar, mast and lifeless body 

Floated slowly in to shore 
But the one time happy household 

To the old house came no more. 

Nevermore were heard their voices 

Calling from room to room. 
Nevermore the flickering firelight 

Banished the shades of gloom. 

Seeming a blot on the landscape 

When the sun reveals its form, 
Like a wraith when the moon shines dimly 

Or, enveloped in fog and storm; 
But a beacon to the boatman 

Far out on the lonely main 
When the setting sun, with crimson, 

Paints each narrow window pane. 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 55 



THE TIBER. 

Thoughts suggested by the proposed dredging of the Tiber to obtain its 
treasures. 

A silver thread among the Appenines 

Becomes a brook among the somber pines, 

Where tuneful birds and wild beasts come to drink. 

And children, still more wild, upon its brink 

Play their rude games with savage, careless grace— 

The fauns and satyrs of the rugged place. 

With ever widening channel on it flows, 

With song and murmur, knowing no repose. 

Until, its banks unable to restrain, 

It leaps unfettered to the boundless plain. 

Here, fed by other streams, 'neath bluer skies. 

Stirred by soft winds, that croon sweet lullabies, 

It flows on grandly to the distant sea 

To shape the course of human destiny. 

At first, through lands primeval, whose rich soil 

Had ne'er responded to the touch of Toil; 

Then Tuscan garden and Etrurian field 

Shadowed its waters with luxuriant yield. 



Here, weary Priam stopped to rest and sing 

Of the Eternal City that would spring 

Upon its banks, and, like a star, 

Shed a rich luster upon lands afar ; 

When Romulus would rear the sturdy wall. 

Stone upon stone.— Did he not hear the call. 

Across the ages, of the toiling slave, 

Of tribune and of Caesar stern and brave, 

The roll of chariot, the shout of victory. 

The wail of captive? And did he not see 

The eagles on the Roman banners gleam. 

That waved and glittered in the morning's beam; 

And in the faces of Rome's foes the dread 

When they would hear the Roman soldier's tread? 



56 THE THREE BRIDES 

And from Eome's rise to glory, half untold, 
Still, by its Avails, the Tiber onward rolled. 



Upon the frail bridge, o'er its waters flung, 

Horatio stood— whose praises have been sung 

More than the thousands have, who, with their swords, 

Drove back the Sabine and the Gallic h'ordes 

In Rome's defense, and for her shed their blood. 

Then sank to death beneath the encrimsoned flood. 

Here wept Zenobia, the captive queen, 

That, nevermore, her own land would be seen; 

There echoed here, Vespasian's bitter cry 

Of "Give me back my legions, ere I die"; 

And the sweet tones, produced by Nero's bow. 

Blent with the music of the river's flow. 

The heathen came here with his offerings 

To "Father Tiber" of most precious things; 

The Christian of his wealth to leave no trace. 

Within its depths, found a safe hiding place;— 

Etruscan vases, many a priceless gem, 

The golden candlestick brought from Jerusalem — 

Most holy, of pure gold, borne to and fro, 

And thrice around the walls of Jericho ; 

Fair works of art from Greece and other lands, 

All here, were buried 'neath the shifting sands. 



And, as in ancient times, so, still today, 
Beside Rome's walls the Tiber takes its way. 



But, in this twentieth century, no plan 

Seems futile to the active brain of man ; 

He lifts from Science the veil of mysteries. 

He reads the secrets of the earth and seas; 

The depths are his, high are his flags unfurled, 

He whispers and his words speed 'round the world. 



So, not unmeet, the Tiber too should hear 
A strange voice calling to it, sweet and clear : 



1 


f . 


1 





AND OTHEE POEMS. 57 

"Give back, oh, river of the yellow tide. 

The jewels that adorned the hand of bride, 

The crowns of gold, the gems plucked from a throne, 

The priceless gifts brought thee from every zone, 

The heaps of gold, that have for centuries lain 

In thy embrace ; that want and woe and pain 

May solace find in these, a gift from thee. 

And Joy and Plenty smile on Italy." 



THE GREAT SOUTH WEST. 

We sing, we sing of thee. 
The brightest jewel on the nation's brow. 

In all her galaxy 
Of glorious sections, the most glorious thou ; 
A beautiful and wide and rich domain 
That aeons 'neath thine azure skies have lain 
And drank of dew and sunshine to make strong 
The soil as fit abode for that great throng 
Of freemen, following from sea to sea 
"The star of empire" and of destiny. 
Not the first race that has thy verdure pressed 
But greatest one that yet has sought thy breast— 
The greatest! Who can tell what empires lay 
Upon these shores in Time's remotest day? 
That sank, perchance, in dark oblivion. 
Before had fallen mighty Babylon; 
Oh, mystic land, thou guard 'st thy secret well 
Of the first people that in thee did dwell ; 
Who climbed thy mountains, drank from out thy 

streams. 
Thy canons roamed, who dreamed their pleasant dreams 
Of love and conquest, fleeting and as fair 
As the mirage they viewed in desert air; 
But thou hast vouchsafed, here and there, a trace 
In times less ancient, of a simple race 
Who dwelt 'mid cliffs and in thy caves obscure, 
With lives best told in place of sepulture. 



58 THE THREE BRIDES 

Balboa and his men 
The shining waves of a great sea behold 

From th' heights of Darien; 
Before unseen by white men, there unrolled 
And stretching out to the horizon's rim, 
Sunlit and rippling, in the distance dim, 
To break upon some distant, unknown shore— 
Thy fair Pacific, bold Conquistador. 
And yet unfurrowed lay its waters blue. 
Save by the passage of some rude canoe, 
Till snowy English sails gleamed in the bays 
As gleamed, on shore, the sword o'er rugged ways 
Carved by the Spaniard for the coming feet 
Of the Franciscan fathers, with the sweet 
Old story of the Cross to tell, content 
Could they but change to humble penitent 
Th' untutored Indian, in whose nature wild 
Reposed the tru,stful spirit of a child. 

Dawned a new era on the wondrous land 
When Civilization, by a priestly hand, 
Built high the mission walls and laid the tile 
And marked the outline of each nave and aisle; 
Upturned the soil and planted tree and vine 
For future largess of rich fruit and wine. 
In safety fed the flocks upon the hills. 
The vales were watered by the mountain rills, 
Where, in the harvest time, shone golden grain- 
In mission gardens bloomed the flowers of Spain; 
And, like the wild rose, bloomed the Indian maid 
Who met her lover 'neath its fragrant shade. 

A sweet contentment in each bosom dwells, 
As, overhead, ring out the mission bells; 
Each swelling note and silvery cadence clear 
Revealing its sweet purpose to the ear; 
While eastward, far beyond the prairies wide, 
Ring other bells o'er the Atlantic tide, 
Proclaiming to a listening world the birth 
Of a new nation cradled on the earth ; 
Proclaiming that the banner o'er it thrown 
Shall ne'er be shadowed by a tyrant's throne;— 



AND OTHER POEMS. 59 

Ring, mission bells, your notes of love and peace, 
Ring, freedom's bells, that tyranny may cease; 
Ring out the victories that ye have won, 
And ring, forevermore, in unison. 

Since that far distant time, 
When on the breeze the bells their music flung 

In messages sublime. 
Whose glorious tones through all the years have rung; 
With added stars, that flag baptized in blood, 
From the Atlantic to Pacific's flood 
Has proudly waved; most proudly in the glow 
Where fading sunbeams their last glances throw 
Upon its folds ere sinking in the deep. 
And purple shadows o'er the landscape creep 
Of the South West, our loving hope and pride. 
More fair than other land on earth beside. 
Whose breast is veined by riches all untold. 
Of purest silver and of shining gold; 
Where, 'mid the rocks, lies hidden many a gem 
Fit to adorn a kingly diadem : 

But of small worth compared to the great wealth 
Presided over by the goddess Health; 
Of fruitful orchards and of smiling plains 
Where a perpetual summer joyous reigns ; 
Where flowers scatter perfume through the year. 
Nor fiery bolt nor chilling blast to fear; 
Whose mountains, grandly towering, capped with 

snow, 
Look proudly down upon the vales below ; 
Where many a city in its beauty stands, 
The wonder and delight of older lands ; 
With trade and industry on ever street. 
And in whose temples Grace and Culture meet. 

In such an air, amid such scenes as these, 
Man may develop fullest energies : 
Beneath such skies, fulfilled each heart's desire, 
To what high purpose may he not nspire? 
In all the years to come, will this not be 
The crowning spot of noblest faculty? 



60 THE THKEE BEIDES 

LOS ANGELES. 

A perfect setting for a spot so fair 

Of mountain, vale and sea ; 

The desert's mystery 
Beyond, with its strange stillness everywhere, 
Beneath the fierceness of whose noontide rays, 
The weary traveler, on its sandy ways. 
Toward thee casts many an eager gaze 

And sighs for thy rose scented breeze. 

Thy singing birds and blossoming trees,— 
Los Angeles. 

What changes wrought since that time long ago 

When Spanish cavalier 

And Don with look austere. 
On the King's Highway journeying, to and fro, 
Here at pueblo lingered long to rest 
In some patio as a welcome guest. 
With padre waiting that he might be blessed ; 

Ere that dread time when cannon's roar 

Shook the mission walls, ne'er heard before 
On this calm shore. 

The mission bells then seemed a wondrous voice. 

Subdued, if death the theme, 

Or spoke with joy supreme 
Of birth or wedding that all might rejoice. 
Grandee and Indian would pause to hear 
The message ringing down upon the ear 
Of faith and love, of woe or happy cheer ; 

And Angelus from out the tower 

Would cast a spell of mystic power 
O'er evening hour. 

There came a paler race, of quicker tread. 

More apt to toil and strive 

And skillfully contrive 
Great purposes, more by ambition led. 
A new civilization then held sway 
And Growth and Progress marked a wider way 



AND OTHER POEMS. 61 

For all than that of drowsy yesterday. 
Now, 'neath these matchless skies. 
The high and splendid walls arise 
Of Enterprise. 

Ships crowd the harbor, and the gleaming rails. 

O'er which the iron steed 

Bounds with impetuous speed, 
All but efface the old priest trodden trails; 
Trade reaches out with ever broadening hand 
To grasp the harvests of the fertile land, 
In every season by soft breezes fanned. 

Year after year, on every side, 

Are barren places beautified 
With loving pride; 

Until, on every hill fair homes are seen. 
Amid whose lovely bowers, 
Bedecked with countless flowers, 
The City of the Angels reigns as queen ; 
Queen of a realm that sea and sky illume, 
Where winter cometh not nor time of gloom — 
A realm of beauty and of fadeless bloom ;— 
A queen as fair as she is old, 
With gardens rich, with hills so bold. 
Of charm untold. 



THE BUILDERS. 

When the Great Architect of worlds made man 
In His own image. He implanted in his breast 
The love of beauty— not the beauty as 
Revealed in Nature's various forms alone— 
In brightly glancing waters, where are mirrored 
The human face and form, most perfect type 
Of beauty as beheld in Nature's works; 
Not in the lights that flash at sunset hour 



62 THE THREE BRIDES 

Upon the hills, not in the shining orbs 

Above, nor in the blossoms at his feet— 

But, with creative power he is endowed — 

The active brain, the skillful hand to plan 

And fashion other beauties to adorn 

Bare niches in Earth's somber galleries. 

Nor, do we need to stand before the works 

Of Thorwaldsen or Angelo to view 

The greatest beauties to be found in art; 

The world is teeming with the work of hands 

More beautiful than e'er was wrought by brush 

Or chisel. We, in fancy, may behold 

Those tombs that overlook the Nile's green banks. 

Or, may, in admiration, gaze upon 

The stateliness of Strasburg's graceful domes. 

Or, stand where yet the Coliseum rears 

Its head amid the ruined palaces — 

Those splendid relics of a splendid past; — 

Or, yet, in the fair edifices that 

Dot our own land to find perfection of 

That art not the less beautiful because 

With it is blent noble utility. 

From the beginning. Architecture has 

Stretched forth a mighty and artistic hand 

To shelter and adorn. "Go to, let us 

Build us a city and a tower whose top 

Shall reach to Heaven, ' ' was uttered when the world 

Was young. From that bold effort uprose Babylon, 

Rich in her palaces and hanging gardens fair. 

And through whose brazen gates the riches of 

All nations passed. In the advancing light 

Of civilization, men grew weary of 

A wandering life— then Lebanon's cedars fell 

And man first learned "to hew the shaft 

And lay the architrave." 

It was not Grecian soil that enriched Rome, 
It was the treasures of philosophy 
And art the conquered laid, in sorrow, at 
The conqueror's feet. Fair Athens pointed to 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 63 

Her loved Acropolis and thus taught Rome 
To imitate her fanes and monuments; 
And Corinth opened her reluctant gates 
And showed her gleaming palaces. Thus Grecian art 
Adorned the seven hills, and Rome, no more 
Was called a city of barbarians. 
And where her standards shone, there Roman art 
Was as triumphant as were Roman arms;— 
A wall in Britain ; now, a pillar reared 
In Gaul; a temple built by the Euphrates' wave; 
Until, as milestones, rose her works throughout the 
world. 

Corinthian column nor the Gothic arch 

Was prized in that dark, medieval time 

When Civilization's waves of light swept backward, 

and 
The only light of learning seemed as a 
Dim taper shining from monastic walls. 
Then his cause was most just whose castle was 
Most strong ; hence strength, not beauty then, was seen 
In the rough tower and massive battlements. 

In the Elizabethen era when 

Sprang Poetry and Romance forth, as sprang 

Minerva fully armed forth from the brain 

Of Jove, then Architecture rose in power 

And corresponding grandeur, while, across the sea, 

In the New World, curled the blue smoke above 

The cabins of a race of freeman, yet 

To be ; each one a home and fortress, where 

Were heard the shouts of children and the songs 

Of women, who, ofttimes, in faltering tones, 

Sang of their native land. 

No masterpiece of architecture has 

Arisen in these latter times excelling those 

Built centuries ago; for, ever, art 

And science seem to follow Nature's plan:— 

Where rays of light diverge more widely, there 

The lesser power at a given point. — 



64 THE THEEE BEIDES 

So, too, though Learning has lit up a hemisphere 

Since gravitation's law astonished men, 

Or, since a Virgil sang— yet, no great mind 

Has grappled with a greater truth, nor has 

The verse of modern poet been more sweet. 

Strains of grand music floated to the roofs 

Of splendid churches, and from palaces 

Lights gleamed upon Venetian waters when 

The New World lay an unknown waste, where now 

The home and church and schoolhouse send 

Their greetings to all peoples 'neath the sun. 

But these old architectural wonders are 
Too surely crumbling into dust; the same 
Sky, yet unfaded, and the mountains, stern 
And changeless still, look down upon them, and 
The streams flow sparkling at their feet as when 
They first stood forth fresh from the builder's hands. 
And thus the evanescence of men's works is seen 
When with the works o^ God they are compared . 

Ancient as Eden, more enduring far 

Than are the adamantine hills, there stands 

A temple fair, unmarred by touch of Time; 

Built by the good and glorious of the world. 

Each laying well a stone in his own time 

And carving name thereon— a noble work, 

Invisible, intangible, save to 

Our inner consciousness. It has 

Arisen slowly through the centuries. 

Like a stalagmite forming in the dim 

Recesses of some cavern; silently 

As Solomon's great temple, where was heard 

No sound of hammer or of iron tool 

In all its building. Warrior, statesman and 

The humble Christian and philosopher, 

The poet and the painter, all, have joined 

In elevating and adorning its 

Fair walls until the twentieth century 

Finds it, indeed, a goodly structure. When 

The walls were yet low, Homer builded well. 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 65 

Justinian's name is there; and Newton, and 
Galileo and Bacon, each did his 
Part well and carved his name in letters deep ; 
The name of Martin Luther shines like gold. 
Around Columbus' name there lingers still 
The balmy air of his discovered realms. 
The names of Washington and Franklin are 
Deep graven as their memories are within 
The hearts of all their countrymen. 



Of Ptolemy Philadelphus it is told: 
He bade his name carved on that lighthouse, called 
One of the Seven Wonders of the World. 
Instead, the cunning architect carved his 
Own name upon the marble deeply, and 
O'er it, in plaster, cut his sovereign's name. 
There have been many, who have sought like this 
Egyptian King to leave a name fair and 
Imperishable on this temple, but 
Their efforts have been marred by personal 
Ambition, and the waves of Time soon swept 
Away their traces. Only those, who have 
Toiled for the good and true, shall have a place 
Enduring on this wondrous temple that 
Shall rise still higher through the coming years. 
Till time shall be no more. 



THE UNATTAINABLE. 

It ever lies beyond the musician's skill 

To woo, from keys, the music of the storm; 

The thunder, muttering from hill to hill, 

A great wind sweeping through the forest trees. 

The waves, high dashing, on a rock-bound shore, 

A mountain torrent's wild, tumultous roar, 

A brook's low laugh, the sigh of gentle breeze. 

The countless melodies rain drops perform; 



66 THE THREE BEIDES 

The pain and anguish of a human cry, 
The song of lark upmounting to the sky. 

In vain would artist with his colors rare, 
Imprison, on his canvas, sunbeams bright; 
The gray, the rose and gold of morning fair, 
Spring's tender beauty. Autumn's pageantry, 
The misty radiance of a moonlit sea. 
The illumined shadows of a starry night; 
Nor can the spirit, shining through the eyes. 
Be more portrayed than lightning in the skies. 

Thought bears the poet on swift, steady wings 
To beauteous islands set in azure seas; 
Where many a happy fancy softly sings; 
The Past unseals rare volumes for his gaze, 
The Future sings prophetic of the days 
To come and all Earth's wondrous mysteries. 
By grand emotions are his heart strings stirred, 
Which, to express, there seems no fitting word. 

We, the plain plodders in life's valley, when 
We catch fair glimpses of the mountain peaks 
And note the beauty of Fame's portals, then 
Oft leave our work unfinished there to climb. 
That we, too, may attain to heights sublime; 
Unheeding mentor that within us speaks 
In accents sorrowing, "Not so, not so. 
Your mission lies here in the vale below." 
Unmindful on we climb through noonday heat. 
O'er rugged ways, oft wounding weary feet. 
Until the shadows deepen on the way 
And disappears from sky all trace of day; 
Again the pitying voice "Return, return. 
To where the lights of home in luster burn ; 
Renew your tasks though humble they may be. 
Think not this side of vast Eternity 
To reach the goal that hope would have you gain, 
But which you labor for on Earth in vain." 



AND OTHER POEMS. 67 

"NULLA DIES SINE LINEA." 

The artist lingered in the morn's bright beams; 
The hills smiled down upon him and the trees 
Waved welcoming branches in the gentle breeze; 
That, with the bird songs and the rippling stream's 
Low melody, fell on his listening ear 
To charm his senses and his spirit cheer; — 
For all that bloomed or sang some pleasure gave. 
Beyond the green fields lay the restless sea, 
White with the sails of many an argosy 
From distant ports, borne o'er the briny wave. 
Full laden with rich stores from every land. 
Silks from Cathay, rich spice from Samarcand 
And wine and perfume from each tropic isle. 
But, high above the pilot's cheery call, 
Ambition sang, and visions that enthrall 
More than rich cargoes and kind Nature's smile — 
Unseen save by the devotees of art- 
Were cherished and enshrined within his heart. 

Above his easel shine — 
Whose canvas yet lies colorless and bare — 
The characters that form his motto fair: 

"No day without a line." 

The door is closed against all common things; 

And as he stands before the canvas there. 

His lips form speech, at once a vow and prayer ; 

That, borne on high by swift, angelic wings, 

Is writ within that book that will be read 

When both the land and sea give up their dead. 

What noble thoughts surge through his throbbing 

brain ! 
What glorious forms within his mental view ! 
What lovely landscapes where the morning dew 
Yet li.es ! Is inspiration all in vain ? 
The brush he seizes and with zeal afire. 
With magic stroke he paints his soul's desire. 
Not in a day, but many come and go— 
He heard the reaper sing amid the grain, 
He saw the purpling grape and heard the wain 
Of vintage sweet pass lumbering and slow ; 



68 THE THREE BRIDES 

And, like confetti thrown in festive town, 

He saw the mad wind whirl the bright leaves down. 

Still on he toiled when nuts fell on dead leaves 

And when the fields were robbed of their last sheaves. 

Down to the snowline gleamed a mantle white, 

The rain fed rivers sang with fresh delight. 

Still, at each day's decline 
He could repeat though weary, worn and pale, 
Yet, with a spirit strong that could not fail : 

"No day without a line." 

At last the day came when his task was done; 
A perfect picture, rare, of priceless worth. 
Glowed there upon the canvas, and the earth 
Thereby enriched; and, as the westering sun 
Shone on it through the lattice, it seemed proud 
Its glory was not dimmed by passing cloud. 

Relentless Time o'er genius e'en holds sway, 
And, long ago, the artist went to dwell 
Amid the beauties of the asphodel. 
But in an Old World gallery, today, 
His picture hangs upon an ancient wall, 
On which the yellow sunbeams love to fall— 
A thing of beauty and of matchless grace. 
On which Time's signet e'en has left no trace; 
A monument more lasting and more fair 
Than brass or marble rising high in air. 

We cannot all paint pictures such as this, 
We cannot all write books profound and wise, 
Nor read the secrets of the brooding skies. 
Nor win high praise, sweet as a mother's kiss; 
But each, by high endeavor, in his sphere. 
Can do some daily good throughout the year- 
All humble deeds, perhaps, obscure and small, 
But the Great Judge will smile upon them all. 

Then we should not repine 
As we toil on through Life's sunshine and storm, 
If we can say, and, saying, well perform: 

**No day without a line." 



AND OTHER POEMS. 69 

COLUMBUS. 

In fair Genoa, centuries ago, 

Ere Time, with onward and impetuous flow. 

Had left sad traces on each palace wall, 

Dwelt in by Doges stern, who reigned and fell, 

As dead leaves fall; 
A child looked out through many a sunny day. 
Upon the shining waters of the bay, 
Blue as the sky above him and the sea 
O'er which a path lay to his destiny. 

And who could tell 
The dreams and visions that beguiled each hour, 
Pealed by the bell from San Lorenzo's tower? 

Or, how his spirit chafed at youth's delay 
When he fain would have sailed o'er seas away. 
How sports pleased not but ever vague unrest 
Like some mysterious singing bird 

Within his breast. 
That sang of joys to come in future days 
When he had gained the world's full meed of praise. 
And, then, at last, came manhood's tardy years. 
With manhood's guerdon of rich hopes and fears. 

He knocked unheard 
At princes' doors, he knelt alone, 
A humble suppliant, at many a throne. 



He asked for aid to seek those regions dim, 
From which bright visions waved their hands to him 
But monarchs kept their gold and heeded not ; 
They had been told that, 'neath the circling sun, 

No other spot 
Remained, yet, undiscovered, and they smiled 
At charts and visions as chimeras wild. 
How could he, poor enthusiast, have discerned 
What priests and learned nobles had not learned? 

But there was one, 
A woman and a queen, of heart and brain- 
A gracious sovereign of the realm of Spain. 



70 THE THEEE BRIDES 

Queen Isabella, that name the synonym 
Of grace and lofty zeal— she gave to him 
Her jewels rare, she gave unto his need; 
And thus, in giving, added hope and cheer. 

That he might speed 
Across the trackless ocean to his goal; 
And whether far Cathay, or, where there roll 
Vast billows 'round some lonely isle, or, where 
Some shore, dwelt on by happy people there. 

No peril dear. 
No toil too great, if in her royal hand 
He might but lay the treasures of that land. 

Away, away, both sea and sky are fair, 
And sweet the briny odors in the air; 
The white sails flutter in each passing breeze, 
The last farewell is said, the last fond word; 

And now for these 
"Who brave the dangers of the mighty deep. 
And these who stay behind to sigh and weep, 
The billows roll between; the ships now are 
Three glistening specks on the horizon's bar; 

No sounds are heard 
Save creak of cordage and the sea bird's cry 
And voice of wind and wave as they sweep by. 

Away, away, the emprise is begun; 

Their prows are turned toward the setting sun; 

Columbus resolute, his seamen brave; 

New empires they will now most surely gain 

Or watery grave. 
The sun their guide by day, the stars by night, 
As they speed onward in their steady flight; 
What though the tempests rage and calms delay? 
More bravely still they press upon their way. 

But all in vain. 
No land is seen— storms toss their tattered sails 
And Hope, that long has sung for them, now fails. 

But whence these branches as from wooded vale? 
These spicy scents borne by the passing gale ? 



AND OTHER POEMS. 71 

Can they be near some lovely, verdant shore 
Where flowers blossom and sweet fountains rise, 

And, evermore, 
Shall well earned comfort and sweet peace be theirs? 
They look and answered are their fervent prayers, 
For just before them, through the sol(l<?n haze, 
A fair land lies before their earnest gaze. 

Oh, sweet surprise ! 
No men more joyful, as with clasped hands. 
They kneel in thankfulness upon the sands. 

The Christian cross is reared, the flag unfurled 
Of Castile and Leon— and a new world 
Has opened wide its portals to mankind 
To bless and shelter them — by key of gold 

And master mind 
Unlocked ; the one a gentle woman gave, 
Columbus, he, magnanimous and brave, 
Discemer of the stars and hearts of men— 
He led the solitary way— and then 

Had he been told 
The wealth and vast extent of these domains. 
Forgotten would have been his need — and chains. 

Four hundred years since white men trod the earth 
Of the new world— four hundred years since birth 
Of nations that a glorious wonder seem; 
And from their haunts, dusk maid and bold cacique 

Sped like a dream. 
And Civilization's torch has cast a glow 
That gleams more bright as ages come and go. 
And, now, Columbia, most blest of lands. 
Would take her sister nations by their hands 

And of him speak, 
Whose grand achievements and whose deeds sublime 
Have marked an epoch on the roll of time. 



72 THE THREE BRIDES 

THE BELL OF LIBERTY. 

Faintly through the mist of years 
Is borne the sound of happy cheers; 
And the pealing of a bell— 
The joyous bell of Liberty; 
Falling on a nation's ear, 
The sweetest music it could hear — 
A paean for th' oppressed, a knell 
For British sway and tyranny. 

Ringing o'er a grateful land 
Greetings from that patriot band, 
Firm in council there, 
To a listening world. 
'Neath Freedom's banner, planted where 
The pride of kings lies hurled : 
"These States are and ought to be 
Happy, independent, free." 

Horsemen quick with steed and rein 
Clattering go o'er hill and plain, 
Bearing the news to cot and hall, 
The freedom of America— 
'Tis heralded to all; 
Where thunders bold Niagara, 
To each nook in the Far West 
Civilization had gained and blest. 

The yeoman, on his rugged farm. 
Feels new strength within his arm; 
The soldier, on the tented field, 
Girds him anew for the deadly strife,— 
He can but die, he will not yield. 
He fights for fireside and for life.— 
Whose every hope is Freedom's own 
Is strong to brave a tyrant's throne. 

Borne by the waves and the fitful breeze, 
The voice of that bell rings o'er the seas 
Where princes revel and peasants fast; 
Where the serf dreams of that better day 
When a tyrant's cruel sway is past— 



AND OTHER POEMS. 73 

And in jubilant tones it seems to say 
"These States will and ought to be 
Happy, independent, free." 

The theme is old; we know how well 

Those heroes fought, how nobly fell; 

How oft their life blood crimsoned the tide 

Of the Hudson and the Delaware; 

How o'er them at Monmouth the night wind sighed, 

And at Valley Forge, the highways there 

Were marked by the prints of their bleeding feet 

As they marched through the snow and blinding sleet. 

Yes, the theme is old; yet, every year 

Fairer, brighter will appear 

Their names, their lives on history's page; 

More gloriously their deeds will glow 

Through each succeeding age; 

More musically sweet will flow 

The notes of that bell until the time 

"When the bells of the world shall ring in chime : 

"These States are and ought to be 

Happy, independent, free." 



MEMORIAL DAY. 

Under a wealth of apple bloom. 

Filling the air with its sweet perfume, 

O'er a path that followed the orchard through, 

A mother passed with her boy in blue. 

At the gate they paused, their lips were dumb ; 

Down in the village the roll of drum, 

A bugle call, a coming train 

Fell on their hearts as stabs of pain. — 

A kiss, a sob, a clasp of the hand, 

A look at the flag— they understand— 



74 THE THREE BRIDES 

Waving so proudly 'tween earth and sky — 
And he is gone with that mute good bye;— 
In the full tide of his boyish grace, 
Gone, the horrors of war to face. 

Once he looked back for one last gaze 
On the peaceful scenes of his boyhood days. 
The woods arose like a massive wall, 
Down the rocky glen dashed a waterfall, 
The fields were green with the springing corn. 
The roof of the cottage, where he was born. 
Peered out from amid the blossoming trees, 
Cheerful with notes of birds and bees; 
Still that silent figure at the gate- 
Soldier boy, how long will she wait 
For thy coming? Will the roses bloom 
And fade — will the autumn gloom 
Shroud the naked fields and the snow fall fast 
And be piled into drifts by the wintery blast? 
Oh, well for her and for every one 
That a bow of hope, fair as the sun, 
Bends over that vail of mysteries, 
Hiding the future's realities. 

Prom his brow, with the old, familiar air. 
Brushing the brown of his clustering hair. 
Waving his hands in a last adieu— 
In his heart enshrined that treasured view— 
On he goes to meet that eager throng, 
Fired by the news that flashed along 
Over the land, from sea to sea: 
"Sumter is fallen, our flag of the free 
Humbled." Then each office, home and farm 
Gave the strength of its brain and arm. 
Gave its heart the Union to save- 
To save it or fall as fall the brave. 
Firm of purpose onward they go. 
Marching southward to meet the foe, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 75 



That foe a brother, perchance a son, 
In the gloomy days of '61. 

* * * • 

In a Southern city fair, 
Music fills the balmy air— 
"Dixie" and "My Maryland" 
Float out sweetly from the band. 
Crowds of people throng the street. 
Banners wave, drums loudly beat; 
Bands of soldiers, to and fro. 
Marching, countermarching go. 
Never did the eye behold 
Fairer forms of Nature's mold — 
Like some old-time heroes sprung 
Into life again when young. 
These men's sires had battles won 
By the side of Washington ; 
Kept the wily foe at bay. 
Fought in many a deadly fray ; 
Helped to execute and sign 
The Declaration, half divine : 
"All men are and ought to be 
Equal, independent, free." 

But a hush falls on the scene 
And a girl with grace of queen — 
None more fair in all the land— 
Now advances, flag in hand. 
"Southern soldier of the gray, 
Take this flag we give today; 
And, if fate be kind to thee, 
Bear it on to victory. 
Tell the Northmen, stern and bold, 
That their Union will not hold. 
That 'tis but an idle dream— 
'Tis the State that rules supreme. 
Go, protect our homes and soil 
That a foeman may despoil. 
And, if in some awful hour. 
Greater numbers overpower. 



76 THE THREE BRIDES 

And this banner be brought low 
And our zeal be turned to woe- 
May it be for valiant dead 
Silken pillow for his head." 



Like a group of boys and girls 
Frowning through their tangled curls 
At a parent's precepts wise ; 
Looking out with scornful eyes 
On the narrow walls of home, 
Longing far from them to roam ; 
So would the South the nation grieve 
And her cheerful hearthstone leave. 
But the Nation's loving heart 
Will not let her thus depart, 
Knowing that the end would be 
Ruin, grief and misery. 
That a country to be great 
Needs the service of each state- 
North and South and East and West 
Must obey each wise behest; 
Or, if not, 'tis duty clear, 
Punishment will be severe. 



Not the words of wisdom from Learning's walls, 

Not the eloquence from statesmen's halls, 

Not the minister's prayer that wars might cease 

Nor the poet's song of the joys of peace 

Could restrain them— these voices were lost in the 

storm 
Of the conflict that raged where the legions swarm 
'Round their standards— one, the stripes and stars, 
The other— that new one— the stars and bars. 
Then the engines of war belched forth their fire 
And the smoke of the cannons rose higher and higher, 
As the balls sped forth on their mission of death, 
Like a whirlwind of wrath with its fiery breath. 
And the shot fell fast like showers of hail 
On the prancing steed and its rider pale— 



AND OTHER POEMS. 77 

Pale with the rage that a battle brings 
When a bugle blows and a bullet sings, 
And the shattered fragments of many a shell 
Mark the places where his comrades fell. 

Thus the Civil War rolled its crimson tide 
O'er the beautiful Southland, far and wide; 
On Manassas' hotly contested field 
They were willing to die but unwilling to yield ; 
Now, on Lookout Mountain's rugged brow, 
With the gallant Stonewall Jackson now, 
At the Wilderness with Grant and Lee, 
Now with Sherman, marching to the sea. 
And the hearts at home were filled with pain 
As they hoped for peace but hoped in vain ; 
For American courage and American pride 
Shone forth from their eyes on either side; 
And the Anglo-Saxon in their blood 
Surged in their veins like a mighty flood ; 
And the potentates of the Old World, 
Who their shafts of malice and scorn had hurled, 
Paused to think that if here such valor burned, 
What if on their own thrones it were turned. 



Peace came at last and the Nation then 
Took to her heart her own again. 
But why this sorrow and this strife 
Should come into her peaceful life 
Will be known in that eternal day 
When Time's dark stone is rolled away. 
But this we know, when Freedom rears, 
As in these intervening years, 
Such base of Union, strong and great, 
With ample room for every state. 
More firm and higher will it grow. 
More light will from its portals flow, 
Until it reaches heights sublime, 
Fair Union's temple for all time; 



78 THE THREE BRIDES 

. A landmark for each distant zone, 
A menace to each tyrant's throne. 



And, so, today, when the busy hum 
Of toil is hushed, and the muflfled drum 
Sounds faintly through the solemn hours, 
A grateful people, bearing flowers, 
Will ask not, on their mournful way, 
Wore he the garb of blue or gray? 
Bore he the old flag or the new? 
Was he to State or Union true? 
But, only, was he soldier brave. 
Who sleeps within this honored grave? 



OUR BOYS ARE COMING HOME TODAY. 

Let every banner be unfurled, 
Let whistles have their noisy way, 

Let bells ring out. 

Let people shout 
Their welcome with the bands that play 
Their bravest tunes— for well the cause 
Will warrant clamor and hurrahs — 
Our boys are coming home today. 

Not from the Orient they come — 
From victories gained beyond the seas, 

Where shot and shell 

Like rain drops fell; 
Nor, yet, from where each Cuban breeze 
Was freighted with a hero's pain- 
No copse but held some hero slain — 
They come not from such scenes as these. 

But, greater trial to brave hearts 

Was theirs the task— with hope deferred — 

To watch and wait 

By the Golden Gate— 



AND OTHER POEMS. 79 

Most eager to pass through— for the word, 

The summons to cross the sparkling main 

And try their strength with the strength of Spain; 

But the joyful message ne'er was heard. 

Thus months sped on— their lives in camp 
Among the dreary sand-dunes passed ; 

Life hard to bear— 

With scanty fare — 
Chilled to the heart by the shrieking blast, 
Drenched by the dismal fog and rain. 
Shivering on their beds of pain — 
Thank God, they're coming home at last. 

They're coming back to love and home 
Beneath the skies of summer land; 

But rising tears 

Will check some cheers 
When we behold the beloved band 
And note some missing, whom not pen, 
Nor voice will welcome home again ; 
Their discharge signed by Death's stern hand. 

But all were heroes just the same 
As if in midst of deadly fray 

The bullets sped 

And they lay dead 
Within the trenches far away — 
Away from friends who hold them dear — 
Mates of our heroes speeding here — 
Ours, who are coming home today. 



THE HERO OF MANILA BAY. 

One of the mist of the early dawn. 
O'er the turbid waves, the fleet sped on, 
Straight for its goal— Manila Bay- 
Where Spain's proud ships at anchor lay. 



80 THE THREE BRIDES 

On cliff and headland were watchful eyes 
On the outlook to guard against surprise; 
And soon the flash of the signal gun 
Gave the alarm ere the rise of sun. 

The Spaniard, in his wrath and pride, 
That a foe should into his harbor ride, 
Sent out a challenge in cannons' roar 
From bold Cavite to Corregidor; 
Which Dewey answered in thunder tones, 
That shook Manila's foundation stones. 
Then the battle raged— a leaden shower 
Rained on the foemen's ships that hour; 
And every ball and every shell 
Sent by our men did its errand well- 
So well that Nature held her breath, 
Awed by that carnival of Death, 

'Mid fire and wreck their ships went down, 
And with them sank Spain's old renown; 
And Luzon saw, first in centuries, 
A strange flag waving in the breeze. 
That eve each tone of vesper bell 
Fell on the ear like a passing knell, 
As prayers were chanted for the slain 
And their loved ones in the homes of Spain. 
In palace and cot on mountain side— 
For aged mother and youthful bride, 
Who, nevermore, shall clasp that hand 
Who placed on hers the wedding band. 

Pity that mother, who stands there 
In her open, vine-framed doorway, where 
The sunlight falls on her hair of snow; 
Gazing out on the path below, 
Hoping, yet dreading, the news to hear 
That may be brought by some mountaineer. — 
Hark to the mule bells, he climbs the steep 
By the winding way— how her pulses leap ! 
Oh, mother, too soon you feel such woe 
As only motherhood may know. 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 81 

Whether English or Latin of race and name 

A mother's heart is ever the same; 

Christian or heathen, womanhood's crown 

Is marred by some thorn that presses it down. 

She goes not to war, in its pomp bears no part, 

But many its bullets that enter her heart. 

Will the world ever grow so kind and so sweet 

That Peace will be queen Avith War at her feet? 

A year has passed since Dewey's fame 
Added fresh luster to our name ; 
Hero of heroes, who, that May morn, 
All fear and danger held in scorn; 
A man of the people, wisely sent, 
Who filled the earth with astonishment — 
Astonishment that ne'er will cease — 
That a country great in the arts of peace 
Should rise like a giant, bold and free, 
And strike such a blow for liberty. 

A year ago 'twas a vision fair 
Of a May queen with her shining hair; 
A May pole planted in the ground, 
With happy children dancing 'round; 
A hawthorne hedge in fullest bloom 
For other visions left no room. 

Todaj^, a ship 'neath tropic sky, 

A starry banner floating high; 

The figure of a soldier brave 

With bronzed cheek, and gray, and grave; 

Who shed new glory on May Day — 

The hero of Manila Bay. 



THE PHILIPPINE QUESTION. 

What shall we give and what retain 

Of the lands that once were the lands of Spain? 

The haughty foe, in rage and pain, 

Bows at our feet, distressed, forlorn, 

A target for the world's fine scorn — 

A jest for millions yet unborn. 



82 THE THREE BRIDES 

If Spain were victor to command, 
Of all obtained by war's red hand, 
She would not yield one rood of land. 
But we are generous as we are brave— 
We owe no sovereign, we own no slave- 
Here, where the starry banners wave. 

Not conquest, not the world's applause. 
Nor empire, but for freedom's cause 
We drew the sword, nor did we pause 
Until the sun of liberty 
Shone on a people glad and free, 
Ripe for a higher destiny. 

We stood for right against the wrong, 
We helped the weak against the strong— 
"For freedom" was our battle song; 
That rose above the cannon's roar. 
That echoed on from shore to shore 
And still shall echo, evermore. 

Our fathers, with far-seeing eyes. 
Knew that temptations would arise 
To claim new lands 'neath foreign skies; 
But, 'mid the noble words that grace 
The brilliant annals of our race 
"Imperialism" has no place. 

Then, those fair isles beyond the seas 
Give back, save one, whose fragrant breeze 
Fanned gently those, whose high emprise 
Led them to death in distant clime, 
Beneath their flag, whose folds sublime 
Shall float there through all coming time. 
For, that is sacred ground where fell 
Our loved ones— there no foe may dwell- 
That isle is ours where they sleep well. 

Go, gallant ships, speed o'er the foam 
And bring our soldier heroes home, 
Where freedom rears her highest dome. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 

And, as the light of polar star 

Shines on the mariner afar, 

Who, by its gleam, finds harbor bar; 

So, may our flag, set firm and high. 

Be a fair beacon in the sky 

For earth's oppressed ones passing by; 

Who will upon these shores behold 

A people great; too proud and bold 

To crave a foeman's lands and gold. 



A PLEA FOR PEACE. 

Above the storm, fair Freedom's voice is calling 

Across the billows of a mighty sea, 
From lands where men are nobly, bravely falling 

For love of firesides and of liberty. 
In numbers few, in courage and devotion 

An army swift and terrible and strong; 
Each heart inspired by worthy, earnest purpose, 

Each hand made steady for the strife with wrong. 

From Albion's cliffs are vessels swiftly sailing, 

Bound for some sunny, Afric port away; 
While, within hall and hovel there is wailing, 

For English mothers mourn their sons today. 
Now, Afric 's soil shakes 'neath the tread of victors 

Whose conquering footsteps sound throughout the 
world ; 
But the brave Boer heart remains undaunted 

And at his foes is fierce defiance hurled. 

O'er kopje and veldt the tide of war is flowing, 

The noise of battle reaches to the skies; 
The cannons' thunder, bugles shrilly blowing. 

The shouts of captains and the shells' dread cries; 
And Death, ''the Commoner", lays haughty noble 

Beside the humblest farmer in the field; 
The flower of England's army leads the conflict, 

And, still, the sturdy burghers will not yield. 



84 THE THEEE BRIDES 

They firmly stand as stood our own when braving 

The British hosts a century ago; 
Not since at Yorktown, where our banners' waving 

Marked their defeat have they met such a foe. 
But, like a flood resistless, yet, will England 

Sweep every barrier of the Free State down 
And add it to her ever widening empire — 

Another jewel in her splendid crown. 

Great nation, from thy distant outposts bringing, 

With sound of muffled drum, thy heroes slain, 
While bells of victory are softly ringing ; 

Mar not the honor of a gracious reign 
By crushing 'neath thy chariot wheels of progress 

The rights of a brave people and their laws ; 
The world will frown on thee for such ambition, 

Will censure thee in such an unjust cause. 

Let us not imitate thee in believing 

That force of arms will civilize a state; 
But, rather, freedom's chaplets quickly weaving 

For those bound to us by the ties of fate. 
And let us both set wise and fair example, 

By which grim war and bitter strife may cease ; 
That the new century may be illumined 

By the bright beams of universal peace. 



THE NURSE OF THE RED CROSS. 
Only a woman, gray and old, 
Laid to rest in the church yard mold. 
Her burial robes neither rich nor fine; 
But on her breast, 'neath the lid of pine. 
Rests a badge more fair than any gem 
Set in an Empress' diadem — 
The badge of a nurse of the Red Cross 
Of whom the world will feel the loss. 

For, where were sorrow and distress 
There was she to cheer and bless; 
Death and disease she did not fear 
Nor sound of bullets whistling near. 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 85 

And where the soldiers' camp fires burned 
To them the Red Cross nurses turned; 
It made the homesick boy rejoice 
To hear again a woman's voice; 
And sweeter was the soldier fare 
When gentle hands would it prepare. 
For those held down by fever's hand — 
A helpless, weak and patient band— 
'Twas easier, e'en, for them to die 
With sorrowing women standing by. 

And where the once fair, verdant plain 
Was crimsoned by the heroes slain. 
And swept o'er by war's fiery breath 
And blasted by the touch of Death ; 
'Mid crash of shells and cannons' roar- 
How sweet to see, then, bending o'er 
The fallen, a nurse with pitying eyes, 
Like an angel come from Paradise; 
With healing balm to ease the pain, 
With water sweet as Heaven's rain, 
Comforting words for the wounded there, 
For the dying, earnest, heartfelt prayer. 

Out of the North with its ice and snow. 

On to the South where the roses blow ; 

From the peace and calm of the Western Sea, 

On where the billows, bold and free. 

Of Atlantic's tide will bear them o'er 

To the tropic scenes of the Cuban Shore ; 

Or, called, perchance, to more stirring scenes 

Where our banners wave in the Philippines ; 

Or, where Boer and Briton on Afric soil 

Fill the wide veldt with wild turmoil. 

Thus, on they go at Duty's call. 

At beds of pain their shadows fall ; 

On missions of mercy, to and fro. 

With willing feet 'round the earth they go. 

Until the last call soundeth clear 

That came to this one lying here. 



86 THE THREE BRIDES 

Now, some one waits for her coming feet, 
Now, some one lists for her accents sweet; 
But, only in dreams, will he ever hear 
Her footsteps and her words of cheer. 

Only in dreams? Who knows, when Sleep 
Strews his poppies, and those who keep 
Watch with the stars o'er the tented field- 
To them no form may be revealed— 
But she may come and smooth the hair 
From the aching brow of some sleeper there. 
It will be known if such things be 
When Cometh the dawn of Eternity. 



THE DIFFERENCE. 
From the street take the raggedest beggar, 

Long familiar with hunger and cold. 
Rude, uncultured in thought and feeling; 

Give him houses and lands and gold; 
Clothe him richly in purple and linen— 

Lo, the chrysalis yields to their sway. 
And from manhood despised and rejected 

Cometh forth a prince today. 

Half a million of gold pieces falleth 

At the feet of a woman whose fame 
Has been tarnished and seared by her sinning- 

None so low but that jest with her name; 
She is cleansed by the golden glimmer, 

Is made pure by her laces so rare 
And forgiven for the costly jewels 

Gleaming brightly from bosom and hair. 

O'er the way is a woman who toileth 

All the year through its sunshine and storm, 
Just for bread to keep her from starving, 

And for fire just to keep herself warm; 
The proud belle whose silk robe she embroiders, 

Well may covet so lovely a face. 
For, no blossom abloom in the hedgerows 

Is endowed with more beauty and grace. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 87 

As a spring bubbling deep in the wildwood, 
As a star that's unseen at midday, 

So is her sinless life all unnoticed 
As uncared for she goes on her way. 

The gay lady rides by in her carriage, 

All the world doffs its cap and bows low, 

But it deigns not to notice the other- 
She is only a seamstress, you know. 

There is many a heart that throbs nobly 

Beneath garments not handsome or fine ; 
There is many a brow that is beaming 

With an intellect almost divine 
That the world knoweth not neither careth 

E'en to enter the place where they dwell, 
But clings close to its golden idols 

As if bound by some magical spell. 

Ah, these idols are often found hidden 

In the fairest creations of earth ; 
Who kneel humbly in houses of worship, 

Who dance gaily in places of mirth; 
They peer out from the judge's ermine, 

They look down from the statesman's proud chair, 
And 'mid folds of fair priestly vestments 

Do they lurk as if cherished e'en there. 

Soft as sound of leaves falling in Autumn 

Come the strains of a glad battle hymn ; 
And, afar, are beheld snow white banners 

Waving proudly though distant and dim; 
'Tis the hosts of Reform noAV advancing. 

Marching onward with banner and song. 
Marching slowly but surely to conquer 

And o'erthrow the dark standards of wrong. 

Then, no more will Vice sit in high places 
While fair Virtue doth toil on in tears; 

Then, who weareth the chaplet of honor 

Will have won it by deeds worthy the years; 



88 THE THEEE BRIDES 

Then, will men learn to smile on true merit 
Be it found in a hut or in hall; 

As one sky that o'er both bendeth ever, 
As one Father, who cares for us all. 



LIFE WANDERINGS. 

Out upon Life's rushing river, 
Drifting with its mighty flow 

Onward to the distant ocean; 

Whence come murmurs, sad and low, 

Telling of waves, wild and free. 
Dashing on Eternity. 

From the eastward, where the sunlight 
Loves to linger on the strand. 

Where a sky, forever radiant. 
Bends above life's morning land, 

Came we, ere had zenith blue 
Changed into more dazzling hue. 

Naught of that fair land reraaineth 

To us now but visions dim ; 
Faded blossoms floating seaward. 

Distant music of a hymn, 
As unto another isle 

We are borne to wait awhile. 

Where high clifl's throw out their shadows 

Far upon the distant wave ; 
Where are streamlets circling downward 

Only there to find a grave ; 
Plains where glitter golden harvests. 

Trees fulfilling promise fair, 
Given when their snowy blossoms 

Scattered perfume on the air. 
This fruition's rock bound land, 

Peopled by a struggling band. 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 89 

Who here toil, rejoice and sorrow, 

Swayed by storms of care and strife, 
As they help or as they jostle 

In the harvest fields of life; 
Reaping, gleaning, filling garners. 

Some with chaff and some with grain, 
Each one as he used the seed-time, 

Bringing sheaves of bliss or pain ; 
Each one, calm or tempest tossed. 

Has a victory won or lost. 

Land of mingled shade and sunlight, 

Land of deeds and not of dreams, 
We have tasted of thy fruitage. 

We have drank from out thy streams ; 
We have gathered in our harvest 

And its sheaves we bear from thee, 
Sown in trembling, reaped in gladness. 

Small and scanty though they be. 
Fitting passport may they prove 

At the gates of Joy and Love. 

Dimly seen near the horizon, 

Laved by waters of the stream. 
Is a land, upon whose hilltops 

Rests the setting sun's last gleam; 
Frost and gloom enshroud the valleys 

And upon the margin stands 
A group of weary, patient watchers. 

Waiting there, with folded hands. 
For the summons sure to come 

That shall bid them hasten home. 

But the current bears us swiftly 

Past the silent, waiting throng; 
Dim and dimmer grows the twilight 

As our course we haste along; 
Even now, night's jeweled banners 

Trail along the western sky 
And the spirits of the night time 

Whisper as they pass us by ; 



90 THE THREE BRIDES 

Near and nearer than before 

Sounds the breakers' sullen roar. 

Out alone upon the billows, 

Tossed by seas of briny foam; 
Waves beneath us, darkness 'round us, 

Overhead a starless dome; 
Wild the raging of the stormwind, 

Cold the mists on heart and brow; 
He, who eareth for the ravens. 

Surely will protect us now; 
Ruler of the wind and wave, 

Thou, and only Thou, ean'st save. 

Lo, a light breaks through the darkness, 

And a glimmering pathway seen, 
Leading to a sheltered haven, 

Where the waters lie serene; 
On the shore there stands a city 

Built of jasper, pearl and gold 
Where the angels wait to welcome 

As the shining gates unfold. 
Entering in, our wanderings o'er, 

Home at last for evermore ! 



"GO, YE, WORK TODAY IN MY VINEYARD." 

In sunny vale and on the sloping hill. 

Half hidden by the leaves, hung purple grape, 

The fairest fruit in all of Palestine. 

Each day, since bud and blossom, had soft winds. 

From country far around, brought it fresh sweets. 

And sun knew naught more fair but kissed its cheeks 

Until bright blushes came and blood sped fast. 

The vines were weary of their precious freight 
And bowed their graceful forms down to the earth 
And sighed for grief that this their only pride, 
So fresh and fair should yet be burden great. 
And nearer still they bowed their heads to dust ; 
While yet the sound of wine press was not heard. 
Nor grape stained hand of maid or child was seen. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 91 

Away from city's din and confused sound 
Of harp and dance and talk of babbling men, 
To peace and calm of shaded field and stream 
The Saviour came, with weary, sandaled feet. 
Oft had He viewed, from housetop, this fair scene 
Of vine-clad hill and cooling rock-girt stream 
And He had longed to walk amid them there 
And praise His Father's works in all around. 

He looks upon the vineyard and beholds 

The time of vintage and awaits the sound 

Of laborer's feet and cheerful labor song; 

But evening comes and still they are not heard, 

And vine and fruit seek comfort from the ground, 

And give the dust to drink of purple blood, 

While shadows longer grow and days is done. 

The gracious Master sighs and looks around 
Upon the world. His vineyard, all so lovely now 
Beneath the light of brightly beaming stars, 
And thinks of man, its fruit, divinely wrought 
So fair and good, at first, but soon to die 
If laborer cometh not to free him from 
The dust and blighting influences of sin. 

"If one from Heaven's throne, by grief and death. 

Can rescue this fair world from utter woe. 

Can bid the people drink at founts of life 

And cleanse themselves from sin by drops of blood, 

Then grief and death will I endure for love ; 

For, dearer to me than the joys of Heaven 

Are' the sad dwellers of this lower world. 

"Here will I labor for them and among; 
Enduring griefs and treading thorny paths 
To heal the sick, to cast the shadows from 
The darkened eyes, to let sweet sounds again 
Fall on the deafened ear, until the time 
When crown of thorns be placed upon my head, 
And I, atonement make for broken law. 



92 THE THEEE BRIDES 

" 'Tis well to throw new worlds out into space 
And people them with creatures who give praise ; 
But, sweeter is it to redeem one world 
From deepest gloom and a Creator's frown 
Than call a million into light of day." 
Communing thus, with dew on brow and robe, 
He passes onward to th' abodes of men. 
While Heaven's lamps shine brightly on His way. 



A few in every age have trod the path 
Whereon He walked, a few have reaped and plucked 
Where He first scattered seed— and all for love- 
Love for the gentle Master and, through Him, 
For all of the redeemed, but yet there comes, 
Adown the steep of years, an echoing wail 
Because the needed laborers are so few. 

Oh, man, oh, woman, kneeling at the shrines 

Of self and ease, go, ye, into the fields 

And vineyards fair of life, and toil. There, thickly 

strewn 
By many a reaping since Creation's dawn 
Are gleanings rare of precious thought and word; 
And, peeping forth from 'mid the vines, such fruit 
Of lofty deeds, compared with which all that 
Found pleasant will but seem as husks and rind. 

God loveth praise ; the deep bass of the sea, 

The treble of the winds, the chorus sweet of birds, 

The voiceless hymns of mount and flower 

Blend in harmonious whole for Nature's God. 

To man, the more is given, the more required 

Than tuneful voice alone and praise with lyre, 

But praise with heart and hand, with mind and might. 

Go, then, today, and work for the world's good; 
Raise up the fallen, bind up sorrow's wounds. 
Preserve the right and find redress for wrong; 
Go at life's morn, go, thou, at manhood's noon. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 93 

Go, at the eleventh hour, and though thy sheaf 
Be small, thy cup not full, yet will they be 
Accepted when thou layest them at His feet. 
And morn of a new life shall dawn on thee. 



THE FIRST CHRISTMAS. 
Softly, now, upon the mountains 
Of Judea and her fountains 
Fall the last rays of the sun; 
On the holy temple glancing. 
Fitfully on streamlet dancing— 
And the winter's day is done. 

As the sunset fires are dying, 
By their light the birds are flying 
Nestward to Gethsemene; 
Lighting homeward Jewish maiden 
And the fisherman, full laden. 
From the shores of Galilee. 

Now, the white flocks, all day roaming 
O'er the uplands, in the gloaming, 
Hasten at the shepherd's call; 
Gladly to their folds returning. 
Where the torches, dimly burning. 
Cast strange shadows on the wall. 

Through the gloom are strangers wending 
Their way, rugged paths ascending, 
Going up to Bethlehem ; 
Passing, where Ruth, in her beauty, 
Once gleaned— Avhere lay David's duty, 
Ere King at Jerusalem. 

Kinsman to these, who now weary, 
Wander through the village dreary. 
Sick and cold and most forlorn; 
Seeking refuge, but unable 
To find shelter, save a stable. 
Where to them a child is born. 



94 THE THREE BRIDES 

Yet this helpless little stranger, 
Cradled in a rough hewn manger, 
Is watched by an angel throng; 
Though born in a lowly station 
Has been looked for since Creation 
Burst into its morning song. 

Onward through the night-time speeding, 
Neither cold nor darkness heeding. 
Come the wise men from afar; 
Gifts of gold and spices bringing, 
Hearts attuned to seraphs' singing, 
Following a wondrous star. 

Following with faith and gladness. 

Knowing that a world's deep sadness 

Disappears within its light; 

That unto mankind is given 

A Redeemer, who, from Heaven, 

Comes to lift the vail of night. 

Lo, the star stops, as none other, 
Where the young child and his mother 
On their humble couches rest; 
And they kneel in adoration, 
Each one offering an oblation. 
Wonder filling every breast. 

See the shepherds humbly kneeling, 
Mingled awe and hope revealing 
In their longing, upward gaze 
At the heavenly host appearing, 
With glad voices, sweet and cheering, 
Singing hymns of joy and praise. 

And, today, the world rejoices 
With its countless, happ.y voices. 
Like the angels long ago ; 
For more sweet becomes the story 
Of the Christ child and His glory 
As the ages onward flow. 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 95 



CHRISTMAS RHYMES. 



There's a garden of roses, so fair, so fair! 
And fairies are scattering the petals where 
Old Santa Clans may think they are snow, 
And, with his reindeer, over them go. 
But he knows their wiles and his reindeer's feet 
Will never be tangled in rose leaves sweet ; 
But over the housetops, away, away, 
He beareth his gifts for Christmas day. 

* * * * 

Scorn not this gift because 'tis small ; 
Love is the crowning gift of all; 
And that to thee I bring 
As better offering. 

* * * * 

Take this soft and snowy thing 
For a Christmas offering; 
May it wipe away no tears 
Through the coming, golden years. 

* * * * 

Said Mother Goose to Santa Claus: 
"Just give this boy a gift because 
He's been so good throughout the year — 
Has cost me neither sigh nor tear." 
Said Santa Claus to Mother Goose : 
"I'll give him something good for use — 
A blank book— in which, day by day, 
Some wise thought he may store away." 



THE NEW YEAR. 

All Hail to the New Year, who weareth a crown, 
Undimmed by the years that have handed it down ; 
Who cometh arrayed in the kingliest guise, 
Whose banners float proudly beneath the glad skies ; 
The wide earth his kingdom, the Present his throne. 
The Past for his fathers, the Future his own. 
With gladness and cheer let us welcome him in,— 
With hearts full of hope, let the New Year begin. 



THE THREE BRIDES 

Let all that would mar this so joyous a day 
From our lives and our minds be cast surely away ; 
Let friendships, now severed by deed or by word, 
Again by some kindly emotion be stirred. — 
"Whom Fortune doth favor, who beareth her frown, 
Let them at one table together sit down; 
Let nations, long hostile, now reconciled be, 
Let greetings be heard from over the sea ; 
Let heart with heart sing "Peace, good will toward 

men" 
And all the world join in a hearty "Amen." 

Bells, ring out your merriest peals, 
Winter, break the icy seals 
Stilling voice of laughing rills. 
Sing together, rugged hills. 
Cataract plunge and ocean roar; 
Bird on sea and bird on shore, 
Tune your voices with the breeze; 
Clap your hands, ye ancient trees ; 
Making sweetest melody. 
Blending sweetest harmony; 
In full accents, loud and clear, 
Welcoming in the bright New Year. 

Nor shall we forget, though gladness may yield, 
The year that was borne on the night's dark shield. 
Away from his scepter and from his throne. 
Out to th' invisible Great Unknown. 
Though hair was well frosted and form was bent. 
There lingered yet traces of grave content 
On the furrowed face that bespoke the rest 
That waited him thither was not unblest. 
With rigid hand grasped he the record plain 
Whereon were the deeds of his mighty reign 
Engraved in imperishable letters bright, 
That tribunes of Heaven may read aright. 

Chant dirges for the dead, 
Chant soft and low;— 



AND OTHER POKMS. 97 

Wail, wail, ye wintery winds, 
O'er wastes of snow. 

And tlinn^li Time hath aaiain set a gem that now fjjleams 
On a l)r()w that with yonth and fair hope brightly 

beams, 
Yet will memory cherish the deeds of the old, 
Thouf^h fraught with some sorrow and sadness untold. 
Not for all did the year weave fair garments of joy, 
Not for all were life's blessings unmixed with alloy; 
The sweet blossoms of hope that we watched day by 

day, 
Not all left fair fruit ere they withered away. 
Said the year "I'll bring roses to strew o'er thy head", 
But the gloom of the cypress was twined 'round in- 
stead. 

He took the form today we miss. 

He sealed the lips we used to kiss; 
He sent the little child whose feet 
And prattling voice made music sweet, 
Away, away, to gather flowers 
In Heaven's amaranthine bowers. 
God help us all, the year made graves 
More deep than 'neath the salt sea waves; 
Fair hopes lie buried in graves so deep, 
No trump can rouse them from their sleep. 

Chant dirges for the dead. 
Chant soft and low;— 
Wail, wail, ye wintery winds. 
O'er wastes of snow. 

But turn we from sadness and turn we from gloom 
To the future that sparkles with brightness and bloom; 
We know, though the past brought some sorrow and 

tears. 
That joy follows sorrow as years follow years; 
Then pile high tlie grate — we'll make e'en the roof ring 
With our laughter, our songs and the chorus we sing; 
How fast fly the hours when they're mated with mirth. 
And the goddess of Pleasure smiles down on the earth. 



98 THE THREE BRIDES 

And, now, when sighs for the Old Year 
Give place to songs of happy cheer, 
Do, thou. New Year, while hand be white, 
Bestow rich blessings in thy might; 
Bid Ceres strew her precious store 
Of grain and fruit from shore to shore ; 
Let Health, with balmy wing, o'erspread 
The poor man's cot, the rich man's bed; 
Then, wilt thou be of years most blest 
Since first the Day sprang from his rest, 
And through the sky his chariot rolled 
To tincture all the earth with gold. 

Spring, for thee, will sing her carols 
In the woodland, by the stream. 
When the willows wake to listen 
And the lilies cease to dream; 
Summer will, when earth is fairest. 
Bind for thee her golden sheaves; 
Autumn send thee loving missives, 
Writ on scarlet tinted leaves ; 
And e'en Winter, though he hoardeth 
Well his treasures, rich and rare. 
Yet will deck thee with his jewels, 
Wrap thee in a mantle fair. 

Thus, each season will a tribute, 
Best and brightest of its prime, 
Give thee, leaflet, thou, from ages, 
Onward borne by breath of Time; 
Bringing us some joyous moments, 
Lent from Heaven a little while; — 
Further what thou 'It bring we know not, 
Whether Fortune's frown or smile. 



COMING HOME FOR HOLIDAYS. 

They are coming back from college, 

University and sem'. 
Weary of the quest for knowledge ; 

Liberty and home for them. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 

And the stately halls of learning 
Are deserted through the land, 

With the students' home returning, 
A care free and joyous band. 

They are coming-, they will rally 

As invincible as Hun, 
Sweeping through the Tuscan valley, 

Contest with the legions won. 
Every household they will capture 

Where was held a place before — 
Every heart will thrill with rapture, 

When are heard the tones of yore. 

Grace will be in parlor singing. 

Jack will play the violin; — 
Mirth and music they are bringing 

To each home they enter in. 
Oh, the house was still and dreary 

With the young folks all away ; 
Now, it will be bright and cheery 

Through each precious holiday. 

Lay the cloth and bring the flowers 

And the dainties loved the best ; 
Pleasure should fill all the hours 

For each dear and welcome guest. 
They must feel no touch of sorrow. 

Whether to a cot or hall 
They are speeding— but each morrow 

Be the fairest one of all. 

That, although, by high endeavor, 
Fame and fortune shed their rays, 

Memory's brightest picture ever — 
Coming home for holidays. 



N. E. A. GREETING. 
The July sun shines hotly 

Where the temples of learning stand. 
Like mute sentinels on duty, 

Through the length and breadth of the land ; 



100 THE THEEE BRIDES 

By the Atlantic's sounding waters, 

By the Mississippi's stream, 
Where the Great Lakes form a border. 

Where the Gulf's waves dash and gleam. 

Whether stately pile in city, 

Or rude structure in the dell, 
On the teacher's desk lie dust motes, 

Cobwebs gather within the bell; 
For the lessons are said— and vanished 

Has each pupil and book from the scene 
On the wave of a blithe vacation. 

With no duties to intervene. 

Now, no longer, through western window, 

Fall the slanting rays of the sun 
On the bowed head of the teacher. 

For the work of the year is done;— 
Of translation and puzzling problem, 

Of encouraging May and John 
Up the rugged steep of knowledge, 

By wise precepts spurring them on. 

There had come a white note fluttering. 

Like a dove, to each schoolroom door- 
Information gracefully worded. 

That on the continent's western shore 
Stands the City of the Angels 

That is chosen the Mecca fair 
For the hosts of pilgrim teachers 

Who would meet in convention there. 

So, o'er dale and glen and mountain, 

Over desert, hill and plain; — 
Many the gleaming milestones 

You have passed this point to gain. 
May your weariness be forgotten 

In the welcome, cordial and free. 
That is given you by the people 

Who dwell here by the sunset sea. 



AND OTHEK POEMS. 101 

In this lovely spot whose breezes 

Are perfumed by countless flowers; 
Where no Storm King wields his scepter, 

May you pass delightful hours. 
You will find more scenes of beauty 

Than in Greece or in Italy- 
Rome is less fair on her seven hills 

Than is this on her seventy. 

You will list to the voice of the ocean, 

You will stand by its foaming tide, 
You will watch the rose and the purple 

Fade away from the mountain side; 
You will hear the mission bells ringing, 

Ringing solemn and sweet and slow, 
In each cadence half revealing 

The dim secrets of long ago. 

Highest honor it is to meet you 

Here within our own gates today; — 
Fitting scenes 'mid which to greet you. 

Here where Nature doth smile alway; 
Educators of a great nation. 

Who, 'neath Truth's white banner unfurled, 
Make it yours the lofty mission 

Thus to teach and bless the world. 



A LULLABY. 

Lullaby, baby, take thy rest, 
Folded close to thy mother's breast; 
The mother bird to her nest has flown 
In the high tree-tops wild and lone, 
And the night is dark and still, 
And the night is dark and still. 

Lullaby, baby, rest and sleep. 

All harm will mother from thee keep ; 

Would that these arms could ever be 

A loving refuge unto thee 

When the night is dark and still, 

When the night is dark and still. 



102 THE THEEE BRIDES 

.The years will come, the years will go 
Out of childhood thou wilt grow; 
Other babes will take their rest 
Folded close to the mother breast ; 
Other birds to their nests will fly 
In the lone tree tops, wild and high, 
And the night be dark and still. 
And the night be dark and still. 



TO E. R. H. ON HIS 21ST BIRTHDAY. 
One morning, when the clocks were striking seven, 
A bundle fell into my arms from Heaven ; 
Within whose folds, contented, snug and warm, 
Reposed an infant, fair of face and form. 
So small and helpless, yet, instinct with life: — 
What was its mission in this Avorld of strife? 
What had it come to do in this rough land, 
So full of toil, with such a tiny hand? 
So like a feeble, fluttering, snow white dove, — 
My heart Avent out to it in tenderest love; 

And as I pressed it to my grateful breast, 
One wish alone my anxious soul possessed,— 
One prayer arose— a sincere, heartfelt prayer — 
That the Creator would my own life spare 
To share with it its early pilgrimage. 
My arms to shield it and its griefs assuage. 
And the Great Father in His high place heard 
The silent wish, the softly spoken word ; 
And, for some hidden purpose all His own, 
He granted wish and prayer, as yet unknown. 

So we began our journey through the years 

With many blessings, little cause for tears. 

At first, I bore it all day in my arms— 

My timid heart was full of strange alarms, 

Lest deadly serpent hiss within the path. 

Or some wild beast spring on us in fierce wrath, 



AND OTHER POEMS. 103 

Or some great bird, low hovering in the sky, 
Should suddenly swoop down with dreadful cry. 
And there was food to seek and shelter find 
Ere day should sink the western hills behind. 

How glad, when by my side, it learned to walk. 
How sweet the music of its childish talk! 
And, like a bud unfolding, day by day, 
So did its life unfold upon the way. 
When we grew weary, then we sought the shade 
Of spreading tree within some forest glade 
And listened to the notes of bird and bee, 
The chant of winds, the brook's low melody; 
And there I told him tales of beasts and men. 
And read him books of song and fable, then 
Refreshed, we went upon our way again. 

Inns, shrines and churches we would often pass 

And many graves among the wayside grass; 

Where, 'neath the drooping branches of the trees, 

Reclined the forms of Famine and Disease ; 

And as we passed each gaunt and spectral band 

More closely still I held my loved one's hand. 

And there were monuments, where many a name 

Shone bright of those who had won deathless fame 

On battle fields and in the halls of state— 

The brave, the wise, the good the world called great. 

I noted, then, the child best loved to hear 

Of those who died for sake of country dear. 

And when we heard the church bell's tuneful calls 

To come and worship in its sacred walls. 

And, through the trees, caught glimpses of the spire, 

That seemed to point to better world and higher. 

We hastened to the spot, where hymns of praise 

Made light the sorrows of the previous days. 

Before the shrines were votive offerings 
Of many beautiful and precious things ; 
Great heaps of yellow gold and lustrous gems. 
That once had gleamed in kingly diadems ; 



104 THE THEEE BRIDES 

And swords that flashed in time of the Crusades, 
But, now, the rust lay thick upon their blades; 
And tattered flags, that had, in many a field, 
Been borne aloft by those who would not yield: 
An ermine mantle and some rings of gold 
That could have melancholy story told; 
And laurel wreaths and roses, white and red, 
That had, long since, their fragrant beauty shed. 
And, oft, the pavement was well worn by these 
Who here had worshiped on their bended knees. 

Some shrines were broken and the lizard slept 

Where once kneeled prince, who solemn vow had kept. 

At sight of these, the child, in mute surprise, 

Would look at me with eager, questioning eyes. 

As if it would interpret from my face 

The mysteries and wonders of each place. — 

In simplest words would say that pride and power 

Are but the frail possessions of an hour; 

That they who worship ever at their shrine 

Do not fulfill their Maker's wise design; 

That fitter offering and the better part 

Is humble spirit and a contrite heart. 

And, sometimes, when the night was falling fast , 
And winds blew chill and sky was overcast, 
We stood before an inn whose windows gleamed 
With ruddy light that on the highway streamed; 
But clink of glasses and the mocking song 
That won applause from the wild, reckless throng, 
Would send us farther through the cold night air, 
Preferring that to rest and shelter there. 
And, sometimes, when half famished and footsore 
We stood before an open, guarded door, 
Beyond which lay a vista of fair rooms, 
With tables set with crystal and rich blooms— 
And craved admittance, they scarcely restrained 
Their laughter that one poor and travel stained, 
Alone and unattended, should aspire 
To entertainment that the rich desire. 



AND OTHEK POEMS. 105 

But, oftener, the doors were opened wide, 

With comfort and good cheer on every side; 

While smiling welcome and the kindly tone 

Proved that their care was not for gold alone. 

And in some pleasant arbor we would rest 

And watch the evening star sink in the west, 

And listen to the chirp of tired bird 

And rustle of the leaves by night wind stirred. 

Or, if the Storm King raged high overhead, 

We sat by hearthstone where the coals glowed red, 

And talked of the past day — its joys and ills — 

And of the morn when Dawn should touch the hills. 

And rosy childhood changed to sturdy youth; 
More eager grew the search for grains of Truth; 
And still more sweet and deeper was each draught 
From Learning's varied rills and fountains quaffed: 
Until of milestones reached are twenty-one, — 
Each one a year — sometimes 'neath Summer's sun, 
Sometimes when Autumn painted landscape bright. 
Or Winter howled, or crocus brought delight. 

Today, from manhood's mount, on which you stand. 
You look out o'er a broad and pleasant land. 
Beneath a bright but ever changing sky- 
Where mountains lift their purple peaks on high ; 
Where forests wave, where fields of green and gold 
And gardens fair their loveliness unfold ; 
Among which glide great rivers to the wave. 
Beside the blossoming trees whose roots they lave; 
Where castle on the hill and cot in glen 
Show the abodes of proud and humble men.— 
A goodly land of deep and fertile soil 
Where wealth and honor wait for those who toil. 

And through this land your pathway shineth clear — 

And joyous voices, calling, you can hear. 

By lofty purposes you will be led; 

The bow of promise bends above your head; 

And Pleasure, singing measures low and sweet, 

Will fling her garlands at your passing feet. 



106 THE THREE BRIDES 

But, more completely will heart strings be stirred 
By Reason's and stern Duty's every word; 
Obey their voices for their works endure; 
As in your boyhood, so keep manhood pure; 
Shun not the Earth's high places if the goal 
Can be but reached with an unspotted soul. 

May best and brightest of your childhood dreams 

Be realized by manhood's deeper streams. 

With faith and hope and courage may you blend 

The precepts of your comforter and friend, 

Who, now, will soon your onward pathway leave; — 

O'er the inevitable do not grieve. 

But ne'er forget when your heart beats are slow 

And dimmer seems the way on which you go. 

That, at some window in eternity, 

She waits and watches, looking out for thee. 



AFTERNOON. 



The sun has passed the zenith and is speeding 

Adown its glittering pathway to the West. 
Yet Nature's heart is joyous, all unheeding 

The gloom that soon shall settle on her breast. 
The stream glides, sparkling, onward to the ocean, 

The plain smiles in its tints of brown and gold, 
The mighty hills look upward in devotion. 

The forest chants its hymns of joy untold. 

The morn was rich in promise and in fragrance. 

When flowers nodded welcome to the day; 
The noontide filled the earth with dazzling radiance 

And turned the weary traveler from his way. 
This afternoon, the shadows softly stealing 

O'er hill and wold, remind us of the flow 
Of day's bright hours and in their stead revealing 

That luminous calm preceding twilight's glow. 

When, on the valley and the distant mountains, 
A light more fair than of the noontide falls ; 



AND OTHEK POEMS. 107 

As Day sends forth unto the gleaming fountains 
Farewell, and from the purpling distance calls 

The meadow lark and the mocking bird's sweet trilling, 
From out the thicket, sounds a sweet refrain;— 

Melodious measures the vast silence filling, 

When gathering gloom brings thoughts akin to pain. 

As down the vista of long years the vision 

Of radiant youth smiles backward to our gaze; 
Once more the sun smiles on the fields elysian. 

Once more doth rosy June greet perfect days. 
But, ah, how soon departs the sweet illusion, 

The roses wither and the sun sinks low; 
Time waits on us — he heeds not the intrusion — 

But fashions for our foreheads wreaths of snow. 



We, of the afternoon, see disappearing 

Our life's fair sun adown the western slope; 
Dim echoes of sweet voices we are hearing 

Of those who've trod the beaten path that Hope 
And Faith illumine— the afterglow alluring 

From the burdens of the day, its heat and glare. 
To follow that same path to peace enduring, 

Beyond the gates of pearl, forever fair. 



THE DYING CHIEF. 

He had climbed the heights of fame, 

That sufi'erer there ; 
He had won a glorious name, 

And a prayer 
Rises from the nation's heart, 
From each eye the teardrops start, 
As the cross, with failing breath, 
He bears through the vale of death: 

"Still all my song shall be, 

Nearer, my God, to Thee ! 

Nearer to Thee!" 



108 THE THEEE BRIDES 

Mighty Chieftain, brought so low- 
By hand of fate ; 
Having all earth could bestow, 

Yet, desolate. 
In the blow that life has riven, 
Seeing only mercy given. 
"Who knows but that he can see 
Old time visions at the knee 
Of her, who, in childhood days. 
Chanted with him hymns of praise? 
"Yet in my dreams I'd be — 
Nearer, my God, to Thee ! 
Nearer to Thee!" 



Noble spirit, all thy power. 

In the gloom 
Of the slowly passing hour, 

Lights but a tomb. 
Brave upon the battle plain, 
Brave upon thy bed of pain; 
Future page of history 
Will show forth thy loyalty: 

"So by my woes, to be 

Nearer, my God, to Thee ! 

Nearer to Thee!" 



"Wanderer, with sun gone down," 

' ' Thy rest a stone ; ' ' 
Sorrow now thy only crown ; 

With Death alone. 
Even yet would "Bethel raise," 
Seeing love in all God's ways. 
"Steps to Heaven" now appear. 
Heavenly music greets the ear: 
"Angels to beckon me. 
Nearer, my God, to Thee ! 
Nearer to Thee!" 



AND OTHER POEMS. 109 

In memory of the Author of "The Stranded Bugle." 

IF WE HAD KNOWN. 

If we had known of all the heavy burdens 

That weighed him down through the slow passing 
years ; 
If we had known of that deep sea of trouble 

Where hopes went down with all that the h«^art 
cheers ; 
If we had read aright the look of sadness 

That dimmed the brightness of his tearless eye,— 
And spoken words of well earned praise and gladness, 

Death might have passed him by. 

We knew the worth of that unselfish manhood, 

His lofty purposes, his noble zeal ; 
His loving kindness to the inner circle, 

His deep devotion to the public weal; 
With hand and voice and pen he toiled for others, 

Some good in everj^thing he could descry;— 
Had he been cheered, as was his due, by brothers, 

Death might have passed him by. 

"Am I my brother's keeper?" comes the question— 

We would not weave fresh thorns in sorrow's 
crown— 
But we are too intent on earthly planning, 

Too busy planting and in tearing down 
To build more splendidly, to note the beauty 

Or cloud in face of either friend or sky;— 
Perchance, if we had done our fullest duty, 

Death might have passed him by. 

The way was rough and long and he was weary, 

His burden heavy and his heart oppressed ; 
No cheerful lights gleamed for him in the distance— 

The shadows brooded heavily and he would rest. 
With senses lulled, as if, by bugle blowing 

A summons, sweet and faint, from some far shore, 
He sank beside Oblivion's sweet waters— 

Upon the sands to sleep and wake no more. 



no THE THREE BRIDES 

A CHEERFUL GIVER. 

J. L. S. 1828-1905. 
"I come, I come, ye are calling me 
Across a restless, mighty sea: 
My spirit breaks from its bars of clay; 
Your call, oh, loved ones, I obey." 

And who can picture the .joy and cheer 
Of that meeting in a fairer sphere? 

They bore her form to the shores of home, 

Nor paused beneath a city dome. 

But, by rich gardens and fields of green. 

They bore her on until was seen 

The spot where Stanford's stately towers 

Keep watch o'er its arcades and bowers; 

And she was laid for a brief rest 

'Neath the roof of the home she loved the best. 

To rest in a dear, familiar room, 

Whose air was sweet with the fragrant bloom. 

Borne on a snowy, blossoming tide 

From city and hamlet, far and wide, 

For her, in loving memory twined, 

In Avhom was every grace enshrined. 

# * * * * 

The winds in the arboretum sigh 

As the funeral cortege passes by; 

There are sighs and tears where the mourners meet, 

As her favorite hymns rise clear and sweet 

And the organ's rich tones fill the place— 

A wondrous temple of beauty and grace— 

Whose treasures of art like jewels gleam, 

Enriched by that Pactolian stream. 

Turned by its founders to wend its way 

Amid the arches, yesterday. 

Today and on to the end of time. 

To foster science and art sublime. 

For the gentle giver, oblivion. 
As the last journey is begun.— 



AND OTHER POEMS. Ill 

Oh, she had journeyed in distant lands, 

In the Orient, on England's strands; 

But ne'er so far that on her ear 

Fell not the sweet chimes ringing here; 

And ne'er so far she could not see 

The red roofs rise in their majesty 

O'er the great school she loved so well; 

And wheresoever she might dwell. 

Her longing was the rest to share 

Of her loved ones 'neath their shadow there. 

Then open wide the tomb of stone, 
For a weary woman comes to her own ; 
And lay her down, where she longed to be, 
To sleep till the dawn of eternity. 

But, ere the marble lid is pressed 

Above her cold and pulseless breast. 

Oh, student band, your voices raise 

And sing your Alma Mater's praise; 

Sing, that the music of each note 

"Will in the mausoleum float 

And hover o'er the illustrious three. 

Who left so rich a legacy: 

And, floating on o'er arch and vale. 

Be blended with "Hail, Stanford. Hail",— 

A last farewell strain from Time's shore, 

As the lid falls forevermore -. 

And with her dear ones left to sleep 

As long as the stars their vigils keep. 

Although so near, she may not know 

Of the young lives that come and go; 

She may not heed voices that sing. 

Or flowers that grateful hands will bring. 

The happy laugh, the cheery call 

Resounding through each lofty hall. — 

Or, may she not, in clearer dawn. 

Perceive her noble work go on : 

The drinking deep at founts of Truth, 

The fulfilled hopes of ardent youth, 



112 THE THREE BRIDES 

Who goeth forth to serve his race 
That other one may take his place 1 
Thus ever widening means of good;— 
A strong and noble brotherhood 
Controlling countless destinies 
Through the slow, passing centuries; 
Uprearing monument, whose fame 
Established in the Stanford name, 
Will ever steadily arise ; 
Whose pinnacle, above the skies. 
Above the stars, will illumed be 
By the light of immortality. 



A MEDLEY OF MEMORIES. 

Nursery of youthful dreams, 
Where the yellow sunlight streams 
On the fields and quiet ways. 
Trodden oft in childhood days; 
Long an exile from thy soil, 
Yet, in all of life's turmoil, 
Loyal has been thought to thee— 
Fair thy scenes in memory. 

Thoughts of thee when early spring 
Gives a fragrant offering 
Of wee flowers of dainty grace, 
Blooming in some sheltered place; 
When the woodland rings with glee — 
Song of bird and hum of bee 
Filling all the balmy air. 
Life and growth are everywhere, 
As the trees their leaves unfold 
And the buttercups their gold. 
In the forest aisles there pass 
Shadows o'er the springing grass, 
Where the wild plum shows its bloom 
And the spicewood sheds perfume. 



AND OTHER POEMS. 113 

By the farm house door are set 

Daffodil and violet. 

But the flowers of all most fair 

Are the apple blossoms there, 

As their petals slowly fall, 

Drifting by the garden wall. 

While, beyond, the blades of corn 

Sparkle in the dewy morn; 

And the creek, in shade and sheen, 

Creeps the woods and fields between. 

Thoughts of thee when cometh June- 
Brook and breeze are then in tune. 
There are roses on her breast, 
Roses in her hands are pressed. 
O'er her bends a perfect sky 
As she goeth quickly by; 
In the imprints of her feet 
Leaving blossoms fair and sweet. 

Thoughts of mingled joy and pride 
Of vast fields on every side. 
Where the golden harvests gleam 
From blue lake to border stream. 
See the reaper, to and fro. 
Over cloth of gold now go ; 
Reaping where he once had sown 
With a patience all his own; 
Seeking not, nor finding rest. 
Till within the jeweled west. 
Colors flash and fade and die 
And the night wind passes by. 
Though to win the golden prize 
He must toil 'neath burning skies; 
Berries ripen in each nook, 
Sweet the draught of crystal brook. 
And the wind that lightly blows 
Through the rustling cornfield rows, 
Waving tasseled plume and leaf. 
Will afford him sweet relief. 



114 THE THREE BRIDES 

What we to these toilers owe 
We may never fully know. 
From the hardy pioneer, 
Who, as in a vision clear. 
Saw a young and growing state, 
Destined, in time, to be great. 
'Neath his stroke the forest fell, 
Where he built his cabin well, 
Knowing of the Indian's dart 
And his bold and treacherous heart; 
Fenced his fields with hard won rails. 
Highways made from Indian trails. 
And, upon them, to and fro, 
Journeyed with his oxen slow. 
Feeling rich that he possessed 
Creatures to do his behest ; 
Orchards planted and the vine. 
Rose tree and the eglantine. 
Forest changed to peopled plain. 
Swamp to fields of waving grain; 
And farm house and city dome 
Rose, then, for the settlers' home. 



But the noblest structure laid 
Was beneath the roof tree's shade, 
Where, instilled in minds of youth. 
Were the principles of truth, 
Courage, faith and energy. 
And the love of liberty. 

Not alone on men of brawn 
Rests a state its hopes upon. 
Whiter though, of hand and brow. 
Than the man who holds the plow. 
Is he, using mental powers 
Through a student's weary hours. 
Knoweth he of joy and pain. 
Triumph sweet and toil in vain; — 
Statesman, planning, framing laws 
To promote a people's cause, 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 115 

Writer of the storied page, 
Coining thought for future age; 
These, with added moral health, 
Help make great a Commonwealth. 



Oh, the glorious Autumn time! 

Who would dally with a rhyme. 

When on Nature one can look 

As upon an open book, 

Reading on each rock and tree 

Earth's sublimest poesy? 

Some there are who love a shore 

Like bold, sullen Labrador ; 

Some the calm of tropic seas 

Or where winds sigh through palm trees; 

Others scenes in distant land, 

Where old castles proudly stand; 

But we would, in fancy, turn 

Where the maples seem to burn 

On the slopes, while down below 

The waters of the Wabash flow. 

There is found the golden rod, 

Black-eyed Susans gaily nod. 

And the sumach scarlet glows 

Like the heart of summer rose. 

The com shocks of generous yield 

Stand like tents upon the field. 

Dotted with great, golden spheres. 

The first fruit of the pioneers ; 

Mellow apples from boughs hang, 

In the air there is a tang 

Of the woods, that stand serene, 

Like ten thousand rainbows seen, 

Robed in gorgeous coloring — 

Rich enough for prince or king— 

Who, ne 'er 'mid such pomp was crowned. 

Nuts fall on the leaf strewn ground; 

Where, to gather them, come out 

Children, with a merry shout; 



116 THE THREE BEIDES 

How their voices, sweet and clear, 
Fall, like music, on the ear! 

Is it the first snow or tears 
Hiding scenes of other years? 
Softly, softly, the flakes fall, 
Covering, as with a pall, 
All that was most fair from sight— 
All that soothed or gave delight; 
Hushed the tones of wood and hill. 
As if whispered "Peace, be still," 
Had been spoken on the earth. 
Cheeking sounds of joy and mirth. 

But the blue smoke, curling high. 

Seems a phantom in the sky. 

As around the bright fireside 

There have met, from far and wide. 

Groups of loved ones, young and old, 

Whom fond, welcoming arms enfold. 

There is many a kindly voice 

Bidding weary hearts rejoice 

And give thanks for garnered store. 

And that the year's toil is o'er. 

What though trees their branches toss, 

Snow laden, window panes across ; 

And the wild winds loudly shriek 

Through night's caverns, bare and bleak: 

There is laughter in the hall. 

Firelight flashes on the wall, 

Lovelight gleameth in their eyes,— 

Love for love, life's greatest prize. 

Love so lasting and so deep, 

Bearing one where kindred sleep 

In the darkness and the gloom 

And the silence of the tomb. 

Over them the night winds blow, 

Over them is wreathed the snow; 

But they little heed or care 

Whether snow or blossom there. 



AND OTHEE POEMS. 117 

Dear friends, in the warmth and light, 
Dear friends, outside in the night, 
Though far distant now we be, 
Near ye are in memory; 
And the scenes of youthful dreams, 
Where the snow's white mantle gleams 
On the fields and quiet ways, 
Trodden oft in childhood days. 



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